Ribbons/Hair/Never/There
by Heidi Patacki
Summary: Helga and Arnold meet at Eugene's wedding, ten years after the cruel circumstances that split them apart. Helga reveals a secret, and its not what you may think.
1. Her Poisonous Bubblegum

Ribbons/Hair/Never/There

Ribbons/Hair/Never/There

The **ribbons** in your **hair -**

They were **never** there.

Miracle Legion, 'So Good'

Part One: Her/Poisonous/Bubblegum

Eugene's wedding was in the valley; he married a man named Kruper from Amsterdam who spoke a little English and smiled a lot. Big, white teeth.

" I may not speak German but I know what love is!" Eugene gushed at the reception afterwards. We all sat around, awkward, clapped cautiously as if we were watching a golf match. One of the boys from Hanson was in the band that played under the white tent they'd set outside near the shore – Curly and I approached him during their break. He was eating oysters from the buffet.

" Hey," Curly began carefully, " What are you doing these days? What happened to your brothers?" He straightened, and up close it became obvious which brother he was – the older one, with the biggest nose. 

" Not much man," he said, cheerfully slurping an oyster from its shell. " What are _you_doing these days?" he asked, laughing to himself. Curly bristled.

We left the guy alone and returned to our dates – mine was a small, dark woman named Julia – she worked with me at the publishing company, but she called herself a singer. They'd turned the stereo on while the band took their break – Johnny Cash's _Ring of Fire_ played – Julia hummed along, smiling at me tightly. She leaned over and put her hand on my shoulder, brought her lips to my ear:

" Thanks a lot for leaving me alone with Curly's girl," she muttered, " She's a real bitch." I looked up to see Curly examining the bottom of his champagne flute curiously.

" Have I met your date yet?" I asked, pitying him. Curly _would_ get stuck with a raging bitch – he liked to get pushed around; he'd even pursued Rhonda Lloyd in high school. None of us ever got near her, though – she dated older men, with butt-chins. She wasn't in attendance at the wedding that day.

" Oh," Curly said, giving me a look and laughing, " Yeah, you've met her."

" She's right there," Julia said, gesturing to the now-empty stage, where a woman was sitting on the edge, looking longingly at the Hanson kid's guitar. She was blond, wearing a black, crocheted dress and cheap, black sandals. She didn't fit with Curly – she was too voluptuous, too secretive. Yeah, I knew her.

She was Helga Pataki.

" Helga!" I called out without meaning to. I felt my face flush into an easy smile – so the old broad was still around. She looked up and frowned at me, stood precariously and grabbed a drink off a passing waiter's tray.

" See?" Curly said, smiling, then looking at me: " You didn't know I came with Helga?" Helga reached our circle and Julia gave her a vulture's smile. Helga didn't offer anything in return. She stared at me, annoyed.

" Yeah, I'm still alive," I said, raising an eyebrow, surprised with her childish attitude. " Are you disappointed?" Helga snorted and drank deeply from her glass of champagne.

" Well," she said, and I was surprised with her woman's voice, which I had never heard in person. " I didn't think you'd come."

" Ah, so you're unprepared?" I asked. Julia laughed nervously, confused. Curly was still staring at his glass like it held some sort of greater knowledge. He was always completely uninterested in conversation.

" You're still in New York?" Helga asked me, perhaps wondering why I'd fly all the way to California to see a childhood friend's wedding. I nodded.

" How do you like Seattle?" I asked her.

" I'm sure you thinks it suits me," she scoffed. Everyone else in the room began to fade slowly - the way we treated people when were together! I noticed Julia wandering off out of the corner of my eye. Curly continued to entertain himself with his glass – Eugene and Kruper were dancing to 'Don't Go Breaking my Heart'.

" Are you and Curly together now?" I asked with an evil glimmer – I knew he wasn't listening. She snarled at me.

" I'm staying with him while I'm in town," she said, finishing her drink, " What's it to you?" she gestured with her chin to Julia.

" Give me a break," I muttered, " She thinks she's the next Celine Dion." Helga laughed, despite herself. The wind blew the palm trees around the tent into disarray, the plastic ceiling above us faltered. 

" Brainy still following you around?" I joked. She chewed her lip.

" Actually, he married Lila," she said, trying hard to laugh but falling flat. I stepped closer to her.

" Someone who needed her even more than my ignoramus of a cousin," I remarked. She looked up at me.

We watched each other silently for a moment. Loose pieces of canary blonde hair moved across her forehead in the breeze, making me think of the image I'd always kept of my mother. Borrowed from a picture in a dusty old anthropology journal - Mom grinning and squinting with the sun in her eyes, hair swept across her face.

" How's your family?" I blurted out. She made an amused face – so you're trying for normal conversation, eh?

" Well, you know Olga always tried hard but she was never smart in the truest sense," she said with a sigh, " She's a concert violinist – tried politics but fell on her face. She doesn't know people.

" And Bob, well, he still hates his job, is thinking about retiring. Miriam is still 'on the verge', but she gets by." She shrugged, " Nothing changes. Your grandparents?"

" As of two months ago, I'm a true orphan," I said, and was embarrassed at how easily the words had rolled off my tongue. The loss of my grandfather had hit hard, and was still tugging at me.

" What about you?" I asked, clearing my throat gracelessly, " I mean, what's your life like?"

Helga scowled, " What the hell, Arnold?" she said, angry, " Am I some sort of occasional amusement of yours? I'll be damned if you have the right to know anything about my life." 

" Helga, don't start with the mood swings," I muttered, glancing around for a moment, forcing myself out of her world. The skies had grown darker, people were huddled near the center of the tent. I saw Sheena laughing with Nadine, their faces pink with alcohol and memories.

" I'm sorry," I heard Helga mutter as I watched them – rare words from her lips. I looked back to her and studied her more carefully than I had before. I hadn't seen her since we were nineteen years old – she was angry with me because of my half-assed attempts to keep in touch since what had happened – a few drunken, three AM phone calls. Sobbing apologies. 

Remembering those nights made my knees shake and nearly buckle – Helga watched the champagne in my glass tilt with my almost invisible shudder.

I shut my eyes for a quick moment – the others in attendance had already faded to the background, the music had softened in my head. But Helga's presence in front of me was still too bright and evident, it was giving me a headache.

" God," I said, " Don't apologize. Not you." I heard thunder in the distance and opened my eyes – she still had hers fixed on me as the wind strengthened and whipped her hair about wildly. She shook her head slowly, and for some reason the movement was very obvious, despite the swirling maelstrom that was picking up around us. I heard surprised shrieks from Eugene's groomsmen as the rain began, blowing inside the tent with the intense wind. Helga's empty champagne glass dropped from her hand and rolled across the floor.

" It was . . . your baby," she said suddenly, raising her voice against the noise of the scattering wedding party and the rain, which was coming down harder now. Her voice was a tiny squeak amidst the roar of thunder, and I grabbed her shoulders to keep her from blowing away. It occurred to me that I should have done this ten years ago – held onto to her in the storm.

" I know," I told her. I did know. I had known. I had waited to hear her admit it, but I'd always known. 

" You were the only one," she said, stepping closer to me – she would be in my arms if I just wrapped them around her shoulders. " Back then," she added, so I'd know that she hadn't stayed single all the years since she'd been gone. I smiled, and listened to the shouts of Eugene's friends and family as the posts that had been holding the tent to the ground were ripped up by the winds. I followed Helga's eyes and watched as half of the gigantic tent took to the skies – flapped wildly in the wind as the wedding party tried to hold the other two posts in place. Eugene's mother was helping him put the wedding cake in an over-sized cardboard box. He looked over at Helga and I and gave us a shaky thumbs up.

" Shit, we should have known," I said, not sure if she could hear me over the noise of the struggle and the squall. " Still a jinx after all these years," I smiled back at Eugene and pulled my wife into my arms. My wife. I laughed to myself at the idea. But we'd never gotten a divorce. Helga snuggled against my chest; we were both wet from the rain that had blasted us when the tent had flared up – now, as I held her, Eugene's father and cousins lost hold of the remaining posts, and the tent flew away into the hurricane, like Dorothy's house caught in the tornado – we all watched it spinning with its white and yellow stripes until the black clouds swallowed it up.

People were gathering as many wedding gifts as they could carry and running to the nearby shops on the boardwalk. The pelting rain was beginning to feel like hale, so I grabbed Helga's hand and pulled her, running, toward the boardwalk. For a moment I thought I was hearing things – but I turned to see her laughing, splashing through the puddles as we went. I told her she was crazy, but I don't think she heard me – thunder roared at us from the sky. We ran past the Hanson brother Curly and I had been harassing earlier – he was holding his guitar protectively, and looking up boldly into the black sky.

" It's a shame," he shouted as we went by, looking past the ruined wedding party to the raging ocean, " And me without my surf board!"

Helga and I ran past the crowded doors of coffee shops and boutiques, found an empty space in an alley between a bagel place and a book store. I put my back to the wall and pulled her against me again, let her press her face to my neck, her tears lost in the mix of rain and noise.

As the storm slowly began to quiet, I saw Curly standing near the beach, still holding his champagne glass. Curly. He had been her date for our senior prom, too – the night everything began. I had gone with Lila, who had been revealed that night to be a cheater – she'd been fooling around with Stinky all year. I was almost happy to let her go – she was a high-maintenance pain in the ass; while other guys were getting blow jobs from their high school girlfriends, I was making magazine cut-out collages of hearts and flowers to appease her highness. As Gerald had once said – " Man, she has you by the TAIL, doesn't she?" It had still destroyed me when I found out she was cheating on me with a doof like Stinky. But Lila had always gone for doofs.

The evening had been a disaster – I spent the after-prom party in the bathroom of Rhonda's house with a bottle of GreyGoose vodka. I was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, thinking. Every once in a while someone would try the door, but I'd locked it. Only Helga had the gall to pick the lock.

" OUT!" she'd shouted, somewhat trashed, and not happy to find me sulking when she busted in. " I've had to pee for over an HOUR and I'll be DAMNED if I'm going to do it with you in here."

" It's a free country," I'd grumbled, not budging.

" Damn you!" she'd shrieked, stomping her foot and taking me off guard with her genuine anger, " Will I ever get you out of my hair?"

" What are you talking about?" I asked in a groan, bringing my sleeve to my forehead to wipe my brow. Helga took the bottle of vodka from me as I did this, placing it on the counter.

" Get out," she said.

" Make me," I challenged. I didn't – and still don't – know why I was so persistent on staying where I was that night. Everything might have been different if I'd just gotten up and left. Gone home. Made myself some coffee. Gone to sleep.

I wonder now if I regret that I stayed.

Helga had eventually pushed me into the tub and closed the shower curtain around me while she used the facilities. I heard the toilet flush, heard her straightening her vixen-like red gown, washing her hands. I didn't move, I felt dead. The bathtub seemed like a good enough resting place at the time.

" You can come out now, and continue your self pity," she'd called, opening the curtain and peeking at me. After some silence: " Are you okay?"

" Give me back my GreyGoose," I'd muttered. She snorted.

" What a pathetic excuse for a human being!" she accused, " You didn't see that coming, football head?" I cringed. She hadn't called me that in years. It had been years since we'd even spoken, actually, save for an awkward English assignment where our teacher had paired us together. 

" What do you know about my life?" I'd offered, not in the mood to put up much of a fight. 

" I knew all along that Lila was a big phony, that's what," she claimed smugly.

" You should have told me," I moaned. I heard her sit down on the edge of the tub, but didn't look up.

" Like you would have listened," she admonished. She was right. I wouldn't have. Lila was the Golden Girl, and Helga had a reputation for stretching the truth. I thought of her 4th grade sensationalist newspaper.

" Well," I said, pushing myself up a bit in the tub, " That's over." Helga was silent for a moment. She handed me the vodka.

" I was going to go back to the party," she muttered, " But what's the point? They're all signing yearbooks and taking pictures – I hate that crap."

" I like that crap," I said, making a face as I swallowed a mouthful from the bottle. Helga took it from me and drank some herself.

" So why don't you go out there?" she challenged, knowing I wouldn't. I shrugged.

" Its time I asked you a few things," I decided, nodding to myself. She laughed, sounded almost nervous.

" About what?" she asked, pulling a hand through her hair. It looked golden in the low light of the bathroom. The wallpaper was pink, I remember. She looked beautiful, but in a way only I could truly appreciate, because I'd seen her grow from an awkward girl to a precious, awkward young woman. She looked down at me, waited.

" What's your story?" I asked, taking the bottle back and drinking from it again. It burned all the way down, but the aftereffect was sweet. I wondered briefly if I was finding Helga so lovely because of my intoxication – but no, it was more a memory of her that I was admiring. She didn't answer my question – only took another drink – so I asked another.

" Do you remember the day we met?" I asked, smiling despite myself, " You were walking to school, all alone."

" You gave me your umbrella," she said, her voice small. Before I knew what was happening, she was crying, her head in her hands. I didn't know what to do – I reached up and touched the small of her bare back, right above where the low cut of her dress fell. When she didn't turn – only cried harder – it seemed natural to pull her down into the tub with me. Her weight pressed onto me comfortably, and I let her arms curl around me, mine around her.

" Its okay," I whispered. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Helga Pataki was sad. Hell, I was sad myself. School was ending. Lila was gone – it was more the fact that I'd lost her to a backwoods buffoon that stung, but she was gone nonetheless. It seemed perfectly in order for me to hold Helga, to try and stop her tears. We needed each other more than we needed that vodka.

I don't remember much more of that night, appropriately. I don't even remember the next morning, to tell you the truth – I remember hearing from Gerald that Rhonda's mother found Helga and I locked up in the bathroom when she went in to clean around ten o'clock that morning. She walked in on us slumbering peacefully (and clothed, thank God) in her bathtub.

The day after prom was our last in high school, and Helga didn't come. I made a cameo despite a raging hangover, and then went home early. I thought about Helga all day, about the fact that my shirt was on inside out when I got home from the party, that her poisonous bubble gum scent was all over me, even parts that typically didn't see the light of day. I tried to push it out of my head.

Then Ruth McDougall showed up.

((Part Two will be posted shortly.))


	2. Too Easy Dangerous

Part II: Too/Easy/Dangerous 

I was working at a restaurant not far from the boarding house that summer, waiting tables and doing my darnedest to flirt with the older ladies so they'd tip well.

I saw Ruth the evening after my fling with Helga in the bathroom. She was sitting at one of the skinny window tables – it suited her. I'd come to understand where people would want to sit just by looking at them. The large, older people would want the wide, comfortable booths. And girls like Ruth – they always picked the tall tables near the windows with the bar stool chairs – always with one foot perched to leave, non-committal, looking beyond this tiny moment.

I puckered when I realized Ruth was sitting in my section – even then I had some inkling that this might be a bad thing: me, Ruth, on an up-in-the-air night like that. It was the kind of night where anything goes, the air was too clear, people's smiles were too easy. Dangerous.

" Hey," I said, lowering my eyes when I went to her table, " Can I get you something to drink?" I willed myself not to look at her – or to look, but not focus or study. But she cleared her throat – demanding attention – and I obeyed. 

She was as tall and thin as ever, a wafer, willing to break only for the right guy. Poised and elegant, the slant of her eyes and the careful shape of her sparse eyebrows suggested snobbery, and I accepted that. Always had. I would have licked Ruth's shoes if she'd asked. But that was high school. And that was over. Wasn't it? 

She stared at me, and I realized slowly that she'd said 'iced tea with lemon'. I nodded, jotted down her request and asked dumbly:

" Would you like any sweetener in that tea?" Ruth's eyebrows moved impatiently, the slightest sign of annoyance restrained.

" No, honey," she said coolly, re-folding her menu, " If I wanted sweetener, I would have asked for _sweet_ tea, right?"

" Um, yes, I suppose," I said with a stupid laugh, walking off. She did horrible things to me, horrible. I wondered what the hell she was doing back in our two-bit town. Gerald (who had become the school gossip as we grew older) had told me not too long ago that she was on scholarship at Brown.

Ruth McDougall. I made her tea, and in a strange moment, checked to see if anyone was looking and spit in it. I watched my addition meld with the bubbles and thought, there. She drinks my spit, she has no control over me. Then I dumped it out and made a new glass. The bus boys eyed me suspiciously. But I knew she would be able to tell, somehow. I couldn't have her hating me.

She was looking out the window as I set her tea down on the table. She must have caught a good glimpse of me reflected in the glass as I fumbled with my notepad, because she asked:

" Didn't you go to primary school with me?"

_Primary_ school, whereas I would have said elementary. I found her word for grade school much more charming, and I flustered when I realized she somehow remembered me.

" Oh, yeah, I think so," I said, squinting my eyes crudely and doing a bad impression of suddenly realizing I knew her. She stared back, bored, fingered her menu. 

" Well, anyway," she said, dismissing our connection, " I'll have the chef salad. And before you ask – no dressing, please."

" How can you eat a salad without dressing?" the words fell mutinously from my lips before I could stop them. She scoffed daintily, disbelieving. I shrank. " I mean –"

" Eating salad dressing feels like, ugh, like eating mayonnaise plain," she shuddered inwardly. She looked up at me, surprised with herself. " Your name was Arnold, right?" I nearly fainted.

" Yeah," I managed, " How'd you know?" She looked at her nails, spread her fingers on the table.

" I know some things," she said softly, " So, are you going to bring me the fucking salad, Arnold, or what?"

I realized later that I was wearing my stupid nametag. It was no miracle that Ruth knew my name. She was just toying with me, and it didn't end there.

She left her number on the credit card slip, and I tore it off before I turned in my checks at the end of the night. Her small, neat handwriting seemed to taunt me as I tucked it into my jean pocket – what the hell are _you_ going to do with _me_? the phone number laughed in my face. Still, she had left it for me – no one had a gun to her head. But her motives worried me, and there was something else at tugging me, too. Helga, and the cloudy events of the night before.

I walked home the long way, past Helga's brownstone. Looking up at the windows on the top floor, I tried to remember which room was hers. I had been there once, taking care of her after I injured her with a baseball. I remembered holding an umbrella for her the next day, helping her with her obviously imagined 'amnesia'. I didn't mind the charade – she was nice to me for one day, the novelty was amazing. Helga and I as friends.

_" You gave me your umbrella."_ She'd said this just as she started crying the night before. But she was talking about the day we met – back in pre K, when we drove up alongside her – a little girl in pigtails, walking in the rain without so much as a jacket. I'd never forget that look on her face when I let her slide under the umbrella, gave her the simplest compliment:

_" I like your bow."_ She looked at me as if it was those were the first kind words that had ever been bestowed on her. I hoped that wasn't true.

A light went on in the third room from the left, and I slipped into the shadows and watched the window.

" Are you okay?" I whispered. Her shadow moved through the room, and my heart rate sped up – afraid of being caught spying, but another feeling suddenly came over me – I wanted to see her.

The light went out, and I walked home with my hands in my pockets. I felt the crafty slip of paper that had Ruth's number on it, and toyed with the idea of bringing it out and releasing it into the evening winds. But I didn't. 

I don't have to wonder about regretting that.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

I called Ruth two days later and asked her to meet me for coffee that weekend. I had a feeling that what she wanted from me wasn't caffeine and pleasant conversation – but I suggested the cozy premise of a coffee shop anyhow, hopeful. She agreed. I hadn't seen Helga since the night I'd spied on her bedroom window.

The coffee shop was crowded, and Ruth was two hours late. The only reason I bothered waiting was that I expected this from her – a test, to see how badly I desired her company. When she finally arrived she was wearing a tight, white tank top and a flowing black skirt. Bra-less, with a single silver bangle on her left wrist. I had a hard time excepting the fact that she was my date. I thought of Lila's Friday evening ensembles – a white and green checked long sleeve shirt, maybe, tucked into blue jeans with a brown belt. Pigtails, always.

" Well," Ruth threw her tiny purse on the table, and cigarettes and pens spilled out. " You're here." She sat across from me and rested her elbows on the table, head propped up in her hands.

" Um, Ruth-" I didn't have anything prepared.

" Arnold," she said, impatient, " I think you're extremely good looking, and the novelty is, you don't even know it," she sighed. " There are so few left. Would you like to dance?"

" It's a coffee shop, Ruth." I was beginning to wonder if I could handle her.

" Not _here_," she told me, standing. 

We went to her "place", which was her parents old house on the upper-class side of town. Near Rhonda Lloyd's penthouse, it stood silent and abandoned, and inside the chairs and tables were covered with sheets. 

" They're selling it," she explained, " I'm just crashing here until I leave for Amsterdam at the end of summer." She gave me a meaningful look: Don't get attached. I wasn't planning on it. The inside of the building reminded me of Rhonda's house, the prom party, her bathroom. I wanted to speak with Helga, but I didn't have the gall to call her. 

Ruth gave me red wine and danced in front of an elaborate, dusty stereo system in the living room. She turned on the electric fireplace and kept the lights off, moving strangely to funky alternative music. A Garbage song came on, and she turned to me. I was sitting on the couch, sedated by alcohol. Wondering if this was becoming some sort of pattern – would I forget my roll in the hay with Ruth, too? 

" I'm not like all of the other girls . . ." Ruth sang along with the song. And she wasn't. Ruth was otherworldly. Especially then, in the low light, her slim body moving through the melodies as if they were palpable. She reached for me, pulling me to my feet.

" Do you dance?" she asked, and I could smell the wine thickly on her words – she was drunk, too. " I find it abhorrent, men who don't dance." The word 'men' stuck in my head awkwardly – I still felt like a boy. I struggled to match her liquid movements, hiding the fact that I was a boy who attempted dance, but didn't know what he was doing. Ruth ignored my ineptitude, if she even noticed it, and flowed around me effortlessly.

She put on an inventive rap CD, and we made love on the sheet that covered her parents sofa. Drunk but still coherent, I had expected my first time to blow me away – and with Ruth McDougall, no less. But I felt jaded, not new. It was my mind's first experience, cruising through the motions of sex – but my body betrayed its innocence. It wasn't my first time – I remembered things in bursts as Ruth moved over me – Helga's bare shoulders, surprisingly delicate. 

" Well," Ruth said afterward, climbing up from the sofa and standing, stretching her lovely body like a cat after a nap. " I'm starving." I stayed in my place on the couch, admiring her bare backside as she made her way into the kitchen, retrieving some grapes and cheese. She returned and we snacked together – it was almost cozy, and she told me about her professors at Brown, how pompous old age could make you. 

" God," I muttered, looking outside at the pitch black sky that was breaking into morning – " What time is it?" She laughed.

" Have you ever been to Europe?" she asked, running a hand along my thigh. Her touch made me jerk unexpectedly now that I was sobering – the way she stroked me reminded me of Dr. No in the James Bond movies, petting his white cat, calculating.

" Europe – what?" Hadn't I just asked about the time? 

" No one in Europe wears a watch," she said with a sigh, resting her head on the back of the couch. " You can leave whenever you like," she reminded me, without the slightest hint of concern.

I started getting dressed, blathering about my grandfather worrying about my whereabouts. Which was utter garbage – Grandpa slept soundly, even when I didn't return home before he turned in – he trusted me. Ruth remained seated, watching me carefully, her gaze causing me to slip and struggle with my jeans.

" You're holding back," she said gaily, a curious little smile spreading across her face, " You have a girlfriend?" she asked, hopeful. I was stopped in my tracks. I gave her a look, preparing to tell her that she was assuming out of nowhere.

" Yes," the word fell, clumsy, from my mouth. I thought of Helga. She would have slapped me. 

" Ahhh," Ruth said slowly, amused. " Let me guess. Blond with blue eyes? Quiet? Perfunctory?"

I didn't know what perfunctory meant, but she was anything but quiet. The hair and eye color was dead on, but I shook my head anyway.

" No, no, nothing like that," I said, suddenly irritable.

" Hmm, defensive," Ruth said, pondering. " Then why run to me? If she's . . . worth defending?" 

I wanted to shout that I didn't _run_ to her, but instead:

" She's not speaking to me at the moment." Ruth laughed. 

Walking home, I felt blasphemous. How ridiculous to think of Helga when I was telling Ruth I had a girlfriend. Why had I said that? I didn't want anything to do with Helga. The idea that we'd had sex – the fact, actually, that was surfacing slowly – repulsed me. To lose my virginity to Helga Pataki! When Ruth was right around the corner! I willed myself to shiver in disgust.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Graduation came shortly afterward, and I finally saw Helga, taking her diploma from the principal and walking indignantly from the stage. Phoebe was our valedictorian, and her speech was about 'growing up'. She was teary-eyed, and it was actually quite good. Lila, the class president, gave a speech as well.

" We've all made some mistakes," she gushed, and I heard a good number of people snicker maliciously. Lila was loved, but I was the original Golden Child, and most of our friends had sided with me. I tried to take some comfort in this, but I felt uneasy. I searched for Helga again in the sea of square, black hats, but couldn't find her. I had a strange, sinking feeling, and I rose from my seat in the middle of Lila's speech. Whispers arose, but I wasn't leaving because of hard feelings.

I walked from the chapel where the ceremony was taking place, toward the parking lot. Sure enough, she was there – leaning against the railing on the front steps. Helga, her hat in her hand, her robe unzipped and billowing like a poncho around the black dress she wore underneath. She eyed me as I emerged from the chapel, and frowned.

" Its over?" she asked.

" You were going to leave before commencement?" I asked her. She snorted, and I noticed the cigarette in her hand.

" Bob and Miriam had to bribe me with new tires for my car just to get me to come," she said with a phony grin, " What are you doing out here, anyway?" she asked, " Don't you have to give the _Most Likely to Save the World from Itself Award_ acceptance speech or something?" I laughed darkly.

" You don't know me at all anymore," I said, realizing it only as I spoke the words.

" Is that so," she muttered, putting the cigarette to her lips. " Maybe you're right. You haven't told me that I'm killing myself yet."

" What?"  
" With this," she said, blowing smoke rings and gesturing to the cigarette she held. 

" Do you want me to?" I asked, " It's a nasty habit. Very unattractive." I thought of Ruth. Her smoking didn't bother me – it suited her. But I hated the taste on her lips. 

Helga rolled her eyes, " I wasn't trying to _attract_ you, so sorry to say." She threw the cigarette down and stamped it out on the steps of the chapel. " But you followed me out here, didn't you? What the hell for?"

Her words actually caught me by surprise – I had followed her, hadn't I? I wasn't sure why, so I let my question spill before I lost my nerve:

" Helga, what happened on prom night?" I asked, " In the . . . bathroom? Of Rhonda's house?" She laughed.

" It was obviously firsties for you," she said, feigning apathy, " Two-minute man. You sincerely don't remember?"

My cheeks burned red, " I – I remember bits of it – did we use anything?" I asked, my voice nearly breaking. I never thought I'd have to say something like that. I swore off drinking forever. (That didn't last).

Her face fell; she couldn't pretend that she didn't care. " I don't remember that much, either." She said slowly, " Just that – that it was horribly quick and uncomfortable." I pinched my eyes shut.

" Shit." A rumble of applause burst forth from inside the chapel – the hats were being thrown, graduation was over. I let go of my own cap – the wind blew it across the parking lot, a fledgling tumbleweed.

Helga clutched her stomach, " Don't . . ." she began, and trailed off. " Its not your fault," she said quickly. We walked down the steps and across the parking lot, escaping before the doors were thrown open, parents and graduates celebrating, carefree. 

A/N: I realize I made Ruth a little smarter than the series did – I wrote this before I'd seen/heard about the Valentine's Day ep. And anyway . . . people can change, right? ^_~ Part 3 is done and will be up soon. ~ M


	3. Cheated So Cheated

Cheated/So/Cheated

We were silent on the way to the drugstore. Helga had put her robe and hat into the backseat of my car - my hat was long gone, but I was still wearing my robe, stubbornly. She went in alone and I waited in the car, watching people walk in and out of the drugstore and the fabric shop next to it, wondering what their personal demons were, if they were struggling with something, and if it was even a fraction as terrifying as my little dilemma.

When she returned to the car with that little brown bag, the fever broke. We cursed each other all the way to her house.

" Goddammit! What the hell were you thinking?"

" ME? You think I'M the one who instigated it?"

We quieted when we reached her brownstone. Tiptoeing past her mother, who was passed out on the sofa in their living room, we crept upstairs, and Helga shut her bedroom door behind her. I was surprised with the childish decorations in her room – as if she hadn't bothered to change it since she was nine. I didn't say anything. I sat down on the bed. She stood near her dresser, motionless.

" Its not like I hadn't thought of this before you said anything," she told me, shaking her head - her eyes were everywhere but focusing on nothing. " I just didn't want to . . . accept it. God, I'm stupid. I'm so, so stupid."

" Quit it," I snapped, anxious. " Just take the test." She disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes, and came back with a little white stick.

" It takes ten minutes," she told me. I nodded, wondering what I would even say to Helga in the expanse of ten minutes. But I felt an odd tenderness for her as we sat together on her bed, waiting for our fate to be revealed – a pink plus, or a blue minus. It was sickening to think that we could do nothing to stop it, only wait to find out. I could see the dust particles floating through the air – caught by the afternoon sun from the window behind us. The silence in the room buzzed. I thought about saying something hip and sardonic – like Ruth would, ruin the tension with cleverness. But I couldn't. Something in me quaked, and I reached over and took Helga's hand. She lost it, started crying quietly.

" What's the matter with me?" she cried, but I got the feeling she didn't want an answer. I put an arm around her, which felt unnatural in the sober light of day. She stiffened, wrung her hands.

Quite a bit of time passed, and neither of us moved, though it had been well over ten minutes. I heard her father downstairs, arriving home from work and rousing her mother. I knew he would come upstairs and question her as to why she left graduation so early. But then I heard the television come on, heard the microwave beep, and realized he didn't even care to find out if she was here.

" Oh, Helga," I muttered, squeezing her hand, which had become sweaty in mine. She took this as her cue, and stood up.

" Alright," she said, walking to her dresser, where the indicator sat, its tell-tale window just out of our range of vision. She walked slowly as if balancing, and when I saw her shoulders move as she laid eyes on it, I knew.

" Its okay!" I said quickly, " Those things aren't always right – they're not that reliable." She didn't speak, just brought the white stick that spelled our doom over to the bed, sat next to me. I glanced at it – pink, the pink plus. I realized that I'd known all along, and that this result would be as accurate as any. But I refused to admit it.

" We'll go to a real doctor. I'll take you to a real doctor and you can have a real test, okay? Okay?" She wouldn't answer me. She laid the test carefully on her bedside table, and leaned down onto her pillows, her eyes wide but unseeing.

" I didn't mean to," she said, her voice tiny and almost undistinguishable, " I swear, Arnold, I didn't mean to!" 

" I know that!" I said, lying down beside her and putting an arm around her, 

" Of course you didn't."

She rolled over and I wrapped her fully in my arms. It felt perfectly normal, now. I owed it to her. What had I done? What the hell had I done? 

" You don't have to stay," she muttered into my shirt. 

But I did. Of course I did. I stayed and she fell asleep in my arms for a little while. I stayed awake, thinking. Mostly I tried to remember making love to her. Did I hold her? Did she kiss me? I felt so cheated. So cheated. The impact of the consequences hadn't even hit me yet. I wouldn't let them. I had to be strong for a moment, be the walls around her. I wouldn't crumble. I couldn't.

Yeah, I was noble at first. Then we made that trip to the doctor's office, and it all came crashing down on my head. My flight reflex began to kick in, much as I tried to fight it.

A middle-aged white man with folded hands and a fine, mahogany desk that he leaned on as he watched us, safe on the other side. He was the kind of doctor you imagined automatically when you heard the word. Helga and I twitched in his uncomfortable chairs.

" Miss, you're pregnant," he said, focusing all of his attention on her, as if I had nothing to do with it. I stewed, nervous, expecting maybe a stern lecture on responsibility when he was through breaking the news to her. I waited for to Helga to break down, but she only nodded softly – she'd known like I had that this visit was unnecessary. We already knew the truth.

" Now, you know, you have several options," he told us as if we hadn't already been pouring over them constantly. He quoted the price of an abortion and glanced, distracted, at me. He talked about adoption, which terrified me. No matter how unwanted, I didn't want someone else claiming my kid – my orphan genes orphaned again. 

" If you decide to have the baby," he said, pausing for an exhausted sigh. I wondered if he was the specialist – did he give these talks to all the young couples who came to him with unwanted pregnancies? " You'll have to understand the full scope of the . . . Well," he chuckled, " Your lives will be over, so to speak."

I thought that was rather harsh, though we both knew it was true. I saw Helga's knuckles go white as she gripped the chair she sat in with new intensity. Wanting to reach for her, I restrained myself. I was bouncing back and forth all the time – caring for her, wanting to take her out of this and protect her from what I'd done, and hating her, blaming her, wishing her burden away.

We left the doctor's office, deflated. He had told us that if she wanted an abortion, the sooner the better. Neither of us had spoken. 

Outside the sun was too bright, it didn't make sense that it wasn't raining. We moved silently to the car, got into our seats. I didn't put the key in the ignition, and she didn't ask me to. We sat in the parking lot, even though the summer heat was uncomfortable. I found my voice before she did:

" What do you want to do?" 

She was quiet for a long time. I heard birds twittering in the trees around the parking lot – they seemed inappropriate, but at the same time, reminded me that life was moving on. 

" I'm . . . hungry," Helga finally spoke, " Can we get something to eat?" I nodded, realizing what her choice was. Have the baby. HAVE THE BABY. I didn't understand, but she was the girl, and it was her body. It felt like a cruel trick, but I'd have been just as depressed if she decided to have an abortion. Maybe for a shorter period of time, though. I drove to the health food store, and she laughed.

" Are you trying to take care of me or something?" she asked, climbing out when I pulled up in front. I shrugged.

" Arnold," she said, " I haven't made my decision. We'll talk about it, okay?" I nodded, but I didn't believe her. She disappeared into the store, came out five minutes later with a huge tub of trail mix. We drove to the pier and sat eating from the bucket until we both felt sick.

" What do _you_ want to do?" she finally asked. I hesitated. 

" Its your choice." I knew it was a cop out, but what could I say? If I told her to get the abortion, I'd be wicked, uncaring. If I told her to have the baby . . . well, she might actually do it. She groaned.

" Let's drive off the pier," she suggested, popping the top back onto the container of trail mix. 

" No," I said, " C'mon, Helga . . ."

" Alright, alright," she said, waving her hands, " But _you_ come on – I'm, I'm not going to make a decision right now."

" You're right," I said, starting the car, realizing what I was asking her to do was insane, " You're right. Let's go home." 

We arrived at her house and looked up at it together: the imposing brownstone was already dark, though it was barely seven o'clock. I could see inside without looking – Bob on the couch, watching football and eating frozen pizza. Miriam asleep on the lounge chair. Olga's trophies shining too bright from every corner.

" Why don't you come eat at the boarding house?" I suggested. She brightened.

" I guess so," she said, pretending to be blasé. " If you want to drag this out." I almost told her to shut up – I was trying to be nice! But that was Helga for you. I was beginning to get used to it, after nearly fourteen years of abuse.

Ruth was waiting for me on the steps of the boarding house – something I hadn't expected. She smiled wickedly when she saw Helga, as if she'd planned the whole thing. Helga grew abnormally silent. 

" Arnold," Ruth said, standing, " I _thought_ this was your house."

" What's going on?" I asked, confused. I was still seeing Ruth, despite the situation with Helga. Her detached attitude made things seem surreal, peaceful. But now my blood temperature was rising due to her presence – she didn't know what we'd just been through, I hadn't told her anything about Helga's potential pregnancy. Which was now a factual pregnancy.

" Nothing's going on," she said, grinning from ear to ear, " I wanted to come by, to see if you had plans. It seems as though you do."

" Yeah," was all I could come up with. Helga shrunk behind me, didn't protest.

" I see . . ." Ruth said slowly, " Well, I'm off then." She aimed at Helga, 

" Goodnight," she offered, teasing. She was malicious, yes. But I was yearning to escape with her to the land of oaky wines and covered furniture.

Instead, I went inside with Helga and made pizza rolls. We sat on the counter tops while they baked, and listened to Mr. Wynh argue with Oskar in the next room.

" Was that your girlfriend?" Helga asked after awhile. I nodded. It would be easier if she didn't expect anything of me in the romantic sense. I remembered thinking the same thing on that first date with Ruth – she probably thought now that Helga was the blond haired, blue eyed girl she'd guessed as my girlfriend. Funny, how they both thought I was docked to the other girl. Not funny, really . . .

" Was she Ruth McDougall?" she continued cautiously.

" Yeah," I said. " She's in town for the summer. Its no big deal." I knew it would be a big deal to Helga. I was relatively sure that she wasn't into the idea of the two of us as a couple, but I knew she needed my support, wanted my full attention.

We couldn't even finish the pizza rolls – neither of us was very hungry. Helga said she wanted to see my room, so I took her upstairs. The boarding house was quiet – it wasn't unusual, since my grandmother had died.

" Here it is," I said, when we reached the attic. I tried to remember if she'd seen it before – was relatively sure she hadn't. She walked into the center of the room, looked up through the skylights.

" Arnold?" she said.

" Yeah?" I walked to her, stood a few inches behind her, waiting. At any given moment, the next step was Helga's call.

" Did today really happen?" she asked, her tone almost flippant, " Did we really – am I . . .?" I meant to tell her yes, but instead:

" I . . . don't know." We stood, unsure, for awhile in the middle of the room. Eventually she asked to see my old yearbook, from junior high, so I brought it out for her. We sat together on my bed and looked at the old pictures, read the messages written to me in childish cursive.

" I didn't sign it," she said, her voice sad. 

" Maybe I didn't ask you to," I said, though we both knew it was more Helga who had avoided me, " I'm sorry." She shrugged, and reached for her purse, retrieving a fancy, black pen.

" Don't look," she said, finding a black space on one of the back pages. I laid back on the bed and looked up through the windows as she wrote – the haze of the city was too thick, I saw no stars. Even the moon was hidden behind a cloud. 

" Maybe we should get out of the city," I suggested, and she laughed. 

" There," she said, capping the pen and shutting the book. " You can read it later, okay?" I nodded, and she laid down beside me, facing me while I watched the sky. 

" What are you thinking about?" she asked me, " Are you mad – that you had to cancel your date with Ruth?"

" I didn't have a date with Ruth –"

" I know, but, well," she sighed, " Maybe you wanted her to stay? I should have left – that was rude. I wasn't even hungry after all that trail mix."

" It doesn't matter, Helga," I told her, " You're more important to me than Ruth right now." I didn't look at her, but I felt her stir against those words.

" Because I'm carrying your baby?" she asked, and I could tell she had trouble putting the sentence together. _Carrying your baby_. Like she was doing me a favor. I rolled onto my side and placed a hand on her stomach; she shivered.

" Are we going to get rid of it?" I asked, and my voice broke. 

" Arnold!" she shrieked, " Don't! Don't say it like that!"

" Well are we?" I asked, as if it were that easy.

" No!" she said. And it was. That easy.

I drove her home not long after that – there was so much more to say, but neither of us had the strength after all that had happened that day. When we pulled up to her brownstone, she looked at me, then back at the house, then at me.

" If only we were in love!" she said suddenly, with a nervous laugh. " How much easier this would be . . . then we could at least pretend . . . that everything is going to be okay."

I kept my hands on the steering wheel, ready for a getaway, " We could pretend we're in love," I said, joking. She laughed.

" I love you, Arnold!" she said, trying to make her voice insincere and sarcastic. I heard the impossible truth in her words, and it didn't bother me. 

" I love you, too," I said, without looking at her. I had no idea what I was doing – I knew it was silly, and perhaps even dangerous, but when we embraced I felt better. Even make-believe love made more sense than the truth.

I watched her until she was inside, and she waved to me from the door before shutting it. I drove away and thought about going to Ruth's to relieve some tension, then realized that would only make things worse.

Plus, the very idea felt like cheating. Which was ridiculous, of course. But I went back home, anyway, and found the yearbook as I was preparing to climb into bed. I opened it and searched for Helga's fresh signature.

" Arnold," it read, " You probably won't believe me, but those were my Nancy Spumoni ski boots, the ones you found on Christmas, that enabled you to find Wynh's daughter. I wanted to help you on your little do-gooder quest: I was always spying on you, in those days. I'm so sorry about everything. I never meant for any of this to happen. The little girl I was would never believe that I'm sitting in your room now, invited. This may sound stupid, but if this had to happen to me with anyone, I'm glad its you. ~ Helga."

I shut the yearbook and put it back on the shelf. Why couldn't she just say that out loud? I didn't know what to make of her. I still don't.


	4. Ending With Balloons

IV: Ending/With/Balloons

I called Helga every other day, letting her know I was still around, wasn't going to abandon her. June crept by, and I still hadn't told my grandfather. I was still spending my evenings with Ruth. 

" What's the matter with you?" she would say sometimes, over the rim of a martini glass. Ruth drank a lot, and prompted me to do so, too. It was my escapism, the beginning of something dark that I hadn't seen coming. 

" Nothing," I'd respond. I wasn't an idiot – I knew I couldn't confide in her, tell her I was falling apart. Ruth was not going to catch me. News of my dilemma would spoil me for her.

In the meantime, she loved the idea that I was cheating on Helga with her. She asked about her, often.

" She's Olga Pataki's little sister, right?" she asked me one night. I nodded, not comfortable with the idea that she recognized her, knew something about her beyond her 'relationship' with me.

" Olga Pataki," Ruth said slowly, laughing to herself. " What a buffoon. An overachiever, to be sure – she got into some Ivy League school and did just fine – worked like crazy, was adored by her professors. But the girl comes to Brown for lectures and gets laughed at. She's a brown-noser, with no real intelligence. Its unbelievable, how any simpleton who works hard can get ahead, these days." She rolled her eyes.

" But – she's a talented violinist, isn't she?" I asked, feeling strangely offended. I remembered Olga giving a concert at the high school and embarrassing the hell out of Helga. She was so beautiful – she made you look twice at Helga, who was pretty, but marred her looks by carrying herself under a dark cloud while her sister shined.

Ruth shrugged. " It doesn't take brain power to practice so hard that you never miss a beat," she said, annoyed by my insubordination. I made a face.

" That's not true," I said, " It takes – an inspired person to make music beautiful. You can hit all the right notes and still sound flat, if you can't . . . feel what you're playing." Lines I'd borrowed from Gerald, who played a mean piano himself. Ruth scoffed at this.

" Arnold, the girl was a dunce," she concluded, ending the conversation, 

" Maybe her _fingers_ were inspired – that's it."

I would walk home from Ruth's house after a half-night's sleep on the rug in front of the phony fire, or under the blankets she'd piled on the covered couch. The sun was usually coming up as I made my way home, preparing to get back in bed again until work.

I spent weekend afternoons with Helga – though I always thought I'd prefer to be with Gerald or Phoebe, Helga's was the only company that seemed to make sense – no one else knew what we were going though, and even if they had, they would not have understood.

Mostly we laid in her bed and watched movies on the tiny TV she kept on her dresser. One Sunday we were watching _Born on the Fourth of July_, and I felt tears pooling, stubborn, in my eyes. The movie was sad, about a man who lost everything in the Vietnam War. I didn't usually cry at movies – in fact, I never did – but my emotions were heightened after everything that happened, and I was feeling sorry for myself. I glanced over at Helga to see if she was shocked at my tears – she was crying, too.

" So sad," she said, quiet, watching me. I sniffed.

" I didn't realize you could cry," I said, embarrassed, trying to turn things onto her, " I never saw you cry, not even when we were little." She wiped her eyes.

" You made me cry once," she said, reaching over to dry my eyes – she swept her thumb across my cheek, taking away the trails. I thought the action was very forward, but I didn't mind her touch. 

" When?" I asked, surprised. She was the one who taunted me. I was always turning the other cheek. 

" When we worked together on that stupid egg project in fourth grade," she said with a sigh, " I'd made this promise to myself that I was going to be nice to you – and you jumped all over me as soon as I sat down next to you –"

" Helga, I –" 

" I know, I know," she said, " It was completely founded. I was so . . . I was confused. It made me mean." I stared at her – I couldn't believe she remembered all this stuff. I was beginning to wonder if she'd had a crush on me when we were younger – she'd written in the yearbook that she used to spy on me.

We were silent for the rest of the movie. It was a happy ending, with balloons.

In mid-July, our friends were packing up for college. No one knew about Helga's pregnancy – not her parents, not my grandfather, not even Gerald or Phoebe, our best friends. Helga's belly was still flat. I was still sleeping with Ruth, but our rendezvous lacked the excitement that it had held at the beginning of summer – there was something else I wanted, something Ruth couldn't give me.

Helga and I didn't talk about the baby. We just didn't. We knew why we saw each other, why we met each week when I got off of work, or when she came home from her poetry workshops. I thought about her sometimes, in those dank classrooms with the sun blazing outside, listening to published poets brag on about their methods. She probably had all their talent packed twice-fold into her pinky finger. Helga, who felt everything so completely, too intensely – how could she not be a poet?

We found one of Olga's old chess boards, and would bring it to the park when it wasn't too hot out. I was never good at chess, but Helga was even worse, and it boosted my confidence a bit. Our friends began to see us out together, and they must have wondered. But everyone was so busy - getting prepared to go off to college – there was no time to discuss the turns our love lives had taken, no matter how bizarre.

" I've been writing a lot," Helga told me, over the chess board one day, " I feel so ridiculously inspired by my depression."

" You're depressed?" I moved a pawn, not in offense or defense, just because I had to move a piece.

" In an inspired way," she answered, with a wicked grin, sliding her queen across the board. " I've been thinking about baby names, if you can believe that." 

I pushed the timid pawn forward another space – she brought her knight down upon it and swept it off the board, paying more attention to the game than I was.

" Baby names . . ." I trailed off. It was easy for me, with a dead and therefore saintly pair of parents. One name for a girl – Wendy, my autumn haired, doe-eyed mother, one for a boy: Charlie, the dashing father. Shadows, with names that could be inherited. Very convenient.

" I was thinking Gretchen or Ingrid if it's a girl," she said, the reality of her words – the possibility of having a daughter – making me queasy. " Something Norse. We have the strongest women." She curled up a forearm in demonstration, smiling. 

" And if it's a boy?" I asked, my mouth going dry – it had to be one or the other, it couldn't be vapors, regrets, a second chance.

" You can pick," she said, " If it's a boy."

That seemed fair. I moved my bishop blindly, and she swept it away with her rook.

" How's Ruth?" she asked, a glimmer of vindictiveness surfacing in her tone. Her first offensive move since we'd become allies.

" She's fine," I answered, careful, scooting my remaining bishop back two squares. " She'll be leaving soon." It was a lie – it would be another month and a half before Ruth alighted, returned to Brown.

" Are you sleeping together?" Helga asked, trying to be coy, faltering – her voice shook. " What will you do if you get her pregnant, too? What would you do then?" I put my hand in the pile of pieces that I'd taken from her, squeezed them, frowned down at the board.

" I don't get girls pregnant," I snapped. " I'm not that kind of guy. What happened between us was – a fluke. A mistake." 

" I'm not saying that it wasn't," Helga returned, taking that final bishop with her queen, snapping up the pieces harshly. " Of course it was a mistake. It was the _mistake_ to end all _mistakes_."

We were quiet for a while after that. Our chess game progressed viciously – Helga bit back tears and stared down at the board, head in her hands. Maybe it was rude to call our tryst in the bathroom a mistake. But what else could I call it? It was the worst thing that had ever happened to me, and to her, too.

" Check."

Still, there was some tenderness between us, and, lying there in the grass with the sun on my back, I didn't feel so trapped. I would be pressed sometimes by these sudden aches for her – because she had something of mine that I couldn't take back, and because I felt her aching for me, too.

I looked up at her and said, " Let's get married." She laughed, and pushed her rook into my king.

" Checkmate," she said, beaming. I stared at the board, dumbfounded. It was the first time she'd ever beaten me.

My grandfather got onto me about not preparing for school in the fall – of course I hadn't bought supplies, of course – that money was going toward, what? – formula? I knew nothing about babies, only that they were expensive.

Ruth asked coyly why I never took her out. "Don't you want to hang onto me?" she teased. By now she'd realized that I wasn't so dumb as she'd originally guessed. When I didn't answer her – only chugged her fancy Merlot:

" You've got some secret, don't you?" she asked. My guess was that she'd known for sometime. Not much got past her – I'd always imagined that she'd been battered and turned hard – she knew people's slippery architecture, their impossible rough places. She worked around them, but didn't bend – only made herself stronger, let things stack upon her and pushed back. She was, ironically, akin to Helga in this.

" She's pregnant," the words busted loose from their gates, and I was happy to set them free. Weighted buckets tumbled off my shoulders – Ruth knew, she would surely let me go, now. 

" I see," she said carefully, and I was surprised with her restraint. I'd come to know that "nothing's sacred" was Ruth's motto, her t-shirt decree. " Olga's little sister," she said thoughtfully, and I waited for the punch line.

" That's the one," I said when nothing came. " That's her. Helga." It felt rude to say her name in Ruth's den – the fake fire, the dizzying wine – Helga was so far away from all of this.

" But you're here," Ruth said, pensive. " I thought – well." She stopped herself, " I guess you're more like me than I thought," she laughed.

" No I'm not," I said, drunk, unashamed. " I just don't know what else to do."

" Get _the operation_," she said, irritated now, " I did." I looked up at her and she answered me with a smug poker-face. God, what happened to you? I wanted to ask - you were a girl, you had ribbons in your hair. I thought of Helga's bow.

" She won't," I said, my lips shaking. She won't turn into you, Ruth, I won't let her. Whoever wrecked you – I won't do the same for her.

I thought of my parents. Were they watching me now? God, I was naked – and drinking. In the lap of the serpent. I reached for my boxers, my shirt. Ruth watched me coldly, fire in her eyes. The phony fire. Reflected, orange flames on her dark eyes. I stumbled, realized how drunk I was. Realized how bathed in ludicrously this scene was – Ruth turning up the air-conditioning until it was cold enough to have a fire in the middle of summer.

" Do the words _the rest of your life_ mean anything to you?" she asked me as I dressed. My hands trembled on the button of my pants – how would Helga and I raise this child? Would I visit, with my shining girlfriend – would I pick him up on weekends in a McDonald's parking lot, Helga's eyes shooting daggers? Would I ask my child to call my lovers Aunt Brittany, Aunt Kelly? How would we explain – how would we ever explain?

" I've got to go," I tripped over her rugs on the way to the door. 

" You might as well drive," she called, venom surfacing in her usually languid voice, " Hope for the worst." I shuddered at her words – she was hurt, I had stamped on her pride. Not a mound of boulders after all – a house of cards. So much like Helga, the pretense, the closely guarded fragility. What was I doing with these girls? Why did I need to save them?

But I wasn't saving Ruth. I walked away quickly, hot summer wind at my back. Left my car parked outside her penthouse, headed for the nearest landmark: Helga's brownstone.

The night had turned to morning since I'd last been outside – but it was a still a black morning, the sun only a dim threat on the horizon. I hurried along the cracked city sidewalks, far away I could hear the eternal buzz of Manhattan traffic.

" Helga," I choked on her name, let it slide past my lips as I walked. I wanted to meet her at the door – Helga, I wondered what kind of bedclothes she'd wear. I wanted to know everything. I wanted her forgiveness, her arms around me. I walked faster, until I was running – the wine I'd had churning in my stomach, my side cramping in tremendous pain. I felt like I might throw up if I stopped – so I only ran harder, my feet pounding the pavement furiously. I finally saw her brownstone up ahead and catapulted toward it – stopping to lean against its cool bricks, catch my breath. A wave of nausea moved over me, but I pushed it down.

I first considered the front door – but no, I didn't want to go through Big Bob, a dazed Miriam. I glanced up at the side fire-escape that led to her window – God bless these old buildings. 

Taking the ladder slowly – my vision was blurred, my senses numb – I worked my way shakily onto the platform that looked into her bedroom. I was surprised to find the light on, a record playing almost inaudibly on an old turntable.

" _See the market place in old Algiers_," sang the jazz beauty, her voice morphed by dust and age, " _Send me photographs and souvenirs; just remember when a dream appears – You belong to me."_

The window was open a bit, and I stuck my face near the crack. 

" Helga!" I hissed. She started and gasped; I saw her when she sat up in bed. Her bedclothes – a pale yellow tank and blue drawstring pants. Her hair pulled up into a messy bun, revealing those soft, sloping shoulders. She sat on the bed and stared at me for a moment, unmoving.

" What are you doing?" she demanded, stopping the record player.

" Can I come in?" She walked to the window, pulled it open. I stuck my head inside and kissed her cheek, sloppy. She made a face. 

" You're drunk," she said, disappointed. But she didn't move back. 

" But I'm thinking clearly – for the first time," I said, and it was true. My movements were sloppy, my breath was stained with wine – but I could finally see Helga, when she'd been hiding from me all those years. I remembered the night I'd found her and Phoebe on my fire escape. Some ridiculous explanation and they were gone – my sneaking suspicions that I pushed down – would anything have been different if I'd let myself realize it? Every insane corner I'd turned to find her – she loved me, that little girl, so awkward, secretly soft, doomed. 

She helped me inside – I swear I heard guitars playing, her hands, the feel of skin on a warm summer's night, guiding me to the bed.

" Lay down," she instructed, making her voice soft. Again I thought of my mother, what she would have done. " I'll make you some coffee," Helga offered, but I grabbed her wrist.

" No, don't take care of me," I moaned, arm draped across my forehead – I was often dramatic when drunk. " I don't deserve it." She laughed.

" I know." She picked up a bottle of Evian that had been sitting on her bedside table, dripping condensation, pulled my arm away and put the cool plastic to my sticky brow.

" Helga," I breathed, shutting my eyes and melting into her bed, my muscles aching pleasantly from my impromptu jog – we're pained, they seemed to say, but here is our reward, what we worked for. Drops from the sweating water bottle slid down my forehead, tickling my cheeks like tears of joy. My body was throbbing with the sadness of not being able to remember the only time I'd been inside someone who loved me. All I'd found in Ruth was sharpness, hurt, and diatribe. In Helga – I couldn't remember. But the parts that surfaced, clear and slow, were warm, profound.

" You can sleep here," I heard her saying as I drifted off, " They won't notice."

I wondered if she would continue with her late night love songs, her records, her lamenting. Or would she lie beside me, drink me in, her captive? _You belong to me_. My sleep was so deep and comfortable, I'll never know.

A/N: This fic will have a brief hiatus, part five won't be finished/posted until I get back to school next week. Have a great Thanksgiving vacation, and thanks for reading/reviewing! ^_^ ~Mena


	5. Under And Above The Water

Part V – Under/And/Above/The/Surface

When morning came – well, noon, but morning for me - she was gone. Her room was pink and fuzzy in the midday light, her sheets hot and moist against my limbs. My head was pounding. Her door shut tight, I was nervous about her parents discovering me – though I knew I shouldn't be. They would let wild dogs tear her room apart rather than raise an eyebrow to the noise. I wondered if she loved me because we were both orphans, because only I could understand her loneliness.

But I didn't feel so lonely now, even in Helga's empty room. I rose painfully, my muscles groaning, my headache lurching and changing positions as I stood. My eyes wandered bashfully over her things – I saw her red dress, the one she wore to our prom, hanging in her small closet, peeking from behind the half-open door. I remembered that dress – pushed both down and up, pooled functionless around her waist. I remembered her clinging to me, her hands under my shirt, all over my back. I shivered, wished she would return.

I continued to her dresser, searched her accessories in vain for that old pink bow. She didn't have much in the way of girly things – a few eye shadows, an old tube of lipstick. A silver barrette, catching the light from the window in a spot of bright glare. Some origami cranes – gifts from Phoebe, good luck wishes written on them. An old Bush CD, an open pack of gum. Not the sugarless kind that Lila chewed, I noted, not one of the minty flavors that Ruth used to sweeten her breath after smoking. No – a thick pack of Bubblelicious, overflowing with sugar, flavor too sweet, like that first junior high kiss. Helga was the first girl I kissed – in our Romeo and Juliet play, her surprising passion. 

I heard a hand on the doorknob and started, but it was only Helga, coming inside. She was wearing a dusty orange summer dress, with white Hawaiian flowers. A honeymoon dress – she seemed happier. Her eyes expanded with relief when she saw me, still inside her room.

" My head hurts," I told her, trying to make a pitiable face. There was so much I had done that begged forgiveness. She walked to me and placed a cool hand on my forehead.

" God," she said, " Its hot in here. Do you want breakfast?" I shook my head.

" I don't feel like chewing," I said earnestly, and she laughed. Her face quickly became serious:

" I told Phoebe," she said. I bit my lip, decided to admit to everything.

" I told Ruth." She slapped me, squarely. I didn't flinch except to turn my head, despite the eager flashes of pain that intensified with the snap of her hand on my cheek. Okay, I was still standing. If that was all she could dole out, I would live.

" Bastard," she said, insincerely, " Go sit down, I'll get you some aspirin." I returned to the bed and watched her fumbling through her purse, heard the pills rattling in their bottle before she found them.

" Its over with Ruth," I decided aloud. " It never really began – I was – confused." Helga snorted with annoyed laughter.

" Excuses like that - you're turning into such a _man_," she said, trying to hide a smile, " Its horrible." She brought me the pills, and handed me the bottle of Evian that had cooled my forehead the night before. She watched me swallow the medicine – " The sad thing," she said, " Is that you actually believe yourself!" she giggled. I took her hand in mine, and she sat beside me on the bed.

" What are you doing here?" she whispered, " Don't you lead me on. You'll enjoy a slow death, should that happen." She narrowed her eyes, sinister. I rolled mine. 

" I'm not planning anything," I told her. It was true. I was playing it by ear, then. She kept her eyes on me, suspicious.

" Why did you stop wearing your ribbon?" I asked, the aspirin slowly beginning to ease my headache. She frowned, put her hand instinctively in her hair.

" Why wouldn't I?" she asked, confused. " I grew up." I laughed without meaning to, and she leaned back on the bed and watched me, puzzled. 

" Let's get out of here," I said, quiet, " Let's run away." I felt free for the first time since the pregnancy was revealed – I was free all along, and I was only now realizing it. Realizing – her. 

" Elope?" she suggested with a scoff.

" Okay." She rolled her eyes.

" Quit being an idiot," she snapped, playing idly with the hem of her dress. 

" Phoebe and I were talking, about being practical, starting to put away money – and we haven't even told my parents, or your grandfather –"

" There's someplace I need to take you," I told her, sitting up suddenly. My headache had dulled to a rolling murmur between my ears – it made the room move slower than normal, my hands pushing through space too quickly. I grabbed her arm and stood, pulling her with me. 

" Arnold – stop!" she protested ineffectually – she moved with me toward the window without much resistance. Why did she have to believe that I couldn't see through her – or could I – didn't she want to give into me? We weren't children anymore – when would she stop chasing me around the playground, taunting guiltily? I stopped at the window and she crashed into me; I heard her breath catch.

" Helga, you have to tell me how you feel," I said, letting the stubborn Samaritan of my youth rush forth again – _Tell the truth_. _It's the right thing to do_.

" What do you-"

" Pretend that we're pretending we're in love," I said, hoping to at least trick the words out of her.

" But we are pretending!" she insisted, yanking her arm from my grip. I turned around to face her – the terror in her eyes almost made me feel guilty. But there was also a small glint of excitement – the flicker that would lend the explosion – begging me to kick a hole in the dam.

" Says who?" I asked. I puffed my pheromones and dared her to take me on – chided my former self for believing that I had been in love before – love! What was love but this – nonsense, tension, a passing afternoon hangover that tore loose the fabric of the universe as we knew it – love was Helga and only Helga, unexplainable. No pigtails-pulled-tight-over-horns Lila or apathetic Ruth drowned in sheets and wine could touch it. 

" Says me!" she returned, frowning. " Quit looking at me like that! What are you talking about? What _do you want me to say_?"

I laughed. " I love you."

She choked: " You do?" I would have needed a translator, she spoke so silently – but I'd heard Helga cry breathless in my dreams, I knew her language. She grabbed my face and kissed me – an angry, Amazon kiss, it left marks on my cheeks, tears on hers.

I took her to the pool at the old apartment building – it was the only memory I had of my parents: the pool, my father lifting me in and out of the water, my waist bouncing safely under and above the surface. It was the there at the pool, under the makeshift canopy of trees that bloomed a green sky in the summer when I lost them, that I learned to wait. Wait an hour after eating. I remember my mother's disappointing sandwiches, her admonishment, sitting impatient at the edge of the deep-end, my feet hanging in the water. An hour is an eternity for a child, but I learned to wait that summer. It would come in handy later, while I waited forever for a return that never came.

The pool was the only place where I could commune with them – they had no graves, no memorial. I was their memorial, sitting at the always-empty poolside. I had never gotten back in – I was a good boy, I had learned how to wait.

I had never brought another person there, not even my grandfather, no one but Helga on that last day. She was quiet – I didn't tell her my history there, but she sensed the weight of the moment. She stood near the rusting gate and watched me as I stalked toward the deep end. I stood near the 12-foot marker, and looked into the depths of the pool – it was clear but for a few leaves floating on the surface.

" I'll never abandon that baby, Helga," I told her with sincerity, " Not for the lives of a million doomed villagers. For nothing." I took off my shirt, pants, and, after only brief hesitation, my boxers. 

" Arnold!" Helga exclaimed, alarmed. Her blush was so palpable I could almost hear it. But I kept my eyes focused on the water, and dove in.

The water was cold, and my nude body balked at the surprise of the chill. I felt the goosebumps surge over my skin, and shivered beneath the water, allowing it to soak into me. Is this what death feels like? I wondered, looking up at the sun's rays, caught above me in gentle folds, rippling with the water. I saw Helga at the edge of the pool, looking down at me. Or is this the way the womb feels? I warmed as I swam underwater, letting the weightlessness take control and push me to the surface. Helga was slipping into the pool with her dress on as I rose.

She swam toward me as I gasped for air, and I studied her look of annoyed determination. 

" I'm cold," she complained, " What are we doing?" I only smiled at her and slipped back under the water, touching her leg before turning and swimming toward the shallow end. She ducked under and followed me, grabbed one of my ankles and pulled me back to her. I let myself slide under her, looked up and watched her float above me, her eyes wandering over my naked form. I hoped she understood that I wasn't trying to be seductive – I simply couldn't return to the pool any other way.

I simply couldn't have done this without her. 

She grasped my shoulders and pulled me up, above the surface. We broke out of the water together, gulping air, moving easily into each other's arms.

" Arnold," she gushed, letting a smile break across her face – a tidal wave, threatening so long, finally crashed to reveal her naked ocean floors. " What is this? What are you trying to tell me?"

" This is just me," I said, shrugging, " I'm just inviting you in, maybe forever," I told her. I put a hand softly on her stomach, " I mean, its only fair," I said, " I'm already in you forever, aren't I?"

She shook her head, her face twisting mutinously into a sob, " You already were," she cried, pressing her face to my neck, " In me. Forever."

I squeezed her to me and let her cry; I knew it must have been painful, to finally let the words get past her lips. Lifting my face to the tree top umbrella that let the summer sun in only through cracks, I couldn't help smiling at the fact that it was she crying instead of me. My moment – I was back in the pool. I had known I would be able to return to the water someday, but who could have predicted a pregnant Helga crying in my arms?

Life was so ridiculous and perfect, I had to laugh. Helga raised her head and gave me a look, confused. I touched her face, kissed the chlorine and tears from her cheeks. She was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen then – wet chunks of golden hair stuck awkwardly to her cheeks, her small shoulders pricked with goosebumps, the blush across her nose, those wicked green eyes trying not to look down.

" Marry me," I said easily. I was not afraid of committing to her, even at eighteen – I was already committed, deep inside her – but it wasn't just the accidental melding of our cells that held me to her – how could I leave Helga? What would my life be without my cornerstone bully, my greatest admirer and critic?

" Stop saying that!" she demanded, forcing a laugh and trying to brush her cheeks dry in vain. " I hope you don't think that I'm foolish enough to believe that you're sincere." She scoffed.

" What have we got to lose?" I asked, " Our childhood? That's already gone," I reminded her. She looked up at me, bashful.

" 'What have we got to lose' is no reason to get _married_, Arnold," she said.

" What IS a reason to get married, then?" I asked, looking around in disbelief, " We're standing in a pool in the middle of the afternoon, I'm naked –"

She giggled – " I can't believe you're naked."

" And here we are and this is our reason," I proclaimed with a nod, speaking completely out of my ass. But I loved her then; I'd never loved anyone so suddenly and fiercely – and any good ole' American boy knows what to do with something he loves – grab it, hold it, own it – get it in writing. 

" I can't get married," she said, letting her hands slide off my shoulders and looking away – "I've got to get out of this pool, I'm freezing." She started wading toward the stairs, and I was left, nude, in the middle of the shallow end. I puffed up my chest – my scene couldn't end that way.

" Where will you go?" I shouted, sending a flock of nearby birds into disarray – the beating of their wings make Helga start, and she turned around. " You'll go back to Bob, to Miriam, and we'll be what? A happenstance couple of parents? A mistake some teenagers made – what? Strangers in the supermarket?"

" Stop asking me what we're going to do!" she shouted back, " I don't KNOW what we'll do, but quit laying it on me!"

" You seem to know what we WON'T do, why shouldn't you know what we will do?" I challenged, and I realized this was the way it would always be with the two of us, for better or worse – a heated argument, a silent truce, the passionate, guarded kisses and then repeat. Waves on the rocks – rushing forward only to break. I didn't care. I wanted this contention – love wasn't a wife in the corner with a smile, love was this wild wife on fire in the middle of my sacred pool, making me fight for every docile sentence.

" I don't believe you!" she accused, her eyes growing red again.

" What don't you believe?" I asked, completely understanding her doubt – I hardly believed myself. She shook her head.

" Any of it," she said, " I want to believe you, really, Arnold. But this is just your 'right thing to do' – you don't really want to marry me. So what's the point? What's the point if its not what we want? We're stuck together anyway."

" If we just get married, it will set everything right," I decided in the moment, terrified of my words. She laughed.

" What is this – the fifties? We had sex so we're obligated to get married?" I shook my head – she was missing my point. It was a cosmic responsibility, not a social one. Things were amiss – stars were shooting. The marriage ritual would still the universe.

But Helga was climbing out of the pool, retrieving the towels that we'd fetched from her house before we left. I started toward the stairs – maybe she was right. Maybe I was talking crazy – I _felt_ crazy. I pulled myself out of the water and was instantly chilled by the slight breeze. I remembered in a rush that I was naked, and the act of being so didn't seem quite as profound as it originally had.

I heard Helga's soft "C'mere," and turned to her. She held out the larger towel for me, and I stepped into it, let her pat me dry. Flashbacks of my mother toweling me off after climbing out of the pool flooded in; I grew silent and let her go about her task. She told me tiny, reassuring kindnesses as she worked, moving the towel over my shaking limbs.

" Its not that I don't want to marry you," she murmured, not looking me in the eyes, " I'm just trying to be honest with myself." She moved down to dry my stomach, careful to keep her eyes above my waist. She stepped behind me, dragged the terrycloth over my shoulder blades – I stayed silent, like a stubborn child scolded. " You have a nice back," she said, almost to herself, " Are you okay?"

" Uh-huh."

She sighed, and wrapped the towel around me again, satisfied to let me dry my more tender parts on my own. I sat down on one of the lounge chairs – once white but yellowed from dust and sun. Helga sat beside me, drying her hair with the other towel. She let her hands fall to her lap after a few moments, and chewed her lip, pensive.

" Alright," she said, cracking her knuckles, " I'm going to make my decision now."

" You could do a lot worse than me, in terms of husbands," I said, absently. I felt like I was losing an argument.

" Shut up for a second," she said, politely. She moved to the chair opposite mine, facing me. She cleared her throat, grinned, and then made her face serious. 

" May I kiss you?" she asked. I burst into laughter, and bridged the gap between our lips. She responded fervently, and moved closer to me, until she was in my lap. She abandoned my lips and smooched my cheeks and forehead endlessly, giggling.

" I can't believe I tried to turn down a marriage proposal from you – my, my _Arnold_!" she laughed girlishly and squeezed my shoulders. I smiled and wrapped my arms around her – I'd never seen this, Helga allowing herself to be happy.

" Trust me," I pleaded, " This is what I want."

" This is insane," she persisted, but she was laughing. I pulled my head back and looked her in the eyes:

" Then we're getting married?" I asked, not able to suppress my own laughter – what would Gerald say? And my Grandfather – God! I had lost my mind. I barely remember the feeling I had that day, some effervescent thing that sent me to the alter with Helga – but I think it was wonderful. 

She pursed her lips and rolled her eyes: " Okay. Let's do it."

Part Six will be out soon! Thanks for being paitient ^_^ ~Mena


	6. Famous Last Words

Famous/Last/Words

" Hello?" My grandfather on the phone, and way too much to say. I wished my grandmother were still alive – I could have explained this to her much more easily. Helga and I were in Jersey, the gross suburban wasteland, in a crumbling Victorian that housed a priest and a bed and breakfast – a convenient combination that was the often and infamous destination of city folk's shotgun weddings.

" Grandpa," I said, my voice cracking strangely. I cleared my throat.

" Arnold!" he said, relieved, " Where've you been, short man? I haven't seen you all day – did you come home last night?

" Grandpa – I'm getting married," I said. Helga, sitting on the stairs in the lobby near the old-fashioned dial phone I was using, flinched. 

" Oh boy."

" I'm in love, Gramps, and I - if I don't do this now I'll never-"

" What about college?" he cut me off, never one for BS, " Arnold – have you gotten some young lady in trouble?"

" Um . . . kind of," I toyed with the phone cord, not used to having serious discussions with my grandfather. He seemed at a loss, too – his heaving sigh made me sad – I'd never given him reason to be ashamed of me until now. I looked at Helga and wondered if what happened was all that shameful. The drinking, the pregnancy – sure, but we were making it right, weren't we?

" Come home soon," Grandpa said, " Whatever happens – I have something I have to give to you."

" What is it?"

" Just take care of yourself, short man," was all he would say, " You know I love you very much – and, well, I suppose I'll support any decision you make, no matter how crack-brained!" I laughed. 

" Thanks," I said, and we exchanged goodbyes and hung up. I looked to Helga, who made her posture straighter on the stairs. Smiling, I walked over and rested my chin on the banister.

" Are you ready?" I asked her. She let out her breath in a rush. She stood and I noticed she'd changed her dress – a flimsy white number, it hung off of her in awkward places. She grabbed the waistline and yanked it tighter around her.

" The old lady gave it to me," she said, moving self-consciously, " I think its her . . . nightgown." I tried not to laugh, really. She made a face.

" You look beautiful," I told her. She rolled her eyes. But she did. She was standing on the fourth stair – I remember exactly, I remember the whole day like a Nam flashback, brilliant and painful to recall – she was on the fourth stair, with the late afternoon light from the window on the second floor pouring down on her, making that yellow hair gold, catching loose tendrils and turning them neon bright. The floppy nightgown sagged around her small frame, her nervous hands trying in vain to pull it into a neat shape. I reached for her.

" Get over here," I said, and she stepped down until the second stair, then fell into my arms. The feeling I had when she squeezed my shoulders with her shaking hands – it was something fleeting and warm. Reminded me of one of my best moments – sitting in my room one afternoon, bored, watching the sun begin to go down. On a lamppost outside, I thought I could make out the outline of a bird, but with the sun's glare on the window and the steel of the post, I couldn't be sure. I squinted at it for what seemed like quite awhile, trying to figure out if there was indeed a bird there – eventually deciding that there wasn't, that my eyes and the sun were playing tricks on me. And then, just as I was turning away – it took off! The bird, flying off like that – it still felt like something I'd imagined, as if I'd created it there with my mind. It was such a small thing, but so secretly delightful – hard to put your finger on, a perfect moment. That was my moment before the ceremony with Helga in my arms – just that.

We were married in a room full of dusty junk. Several old Coke ads were piled into corners, a crusted, wooden ice cream machine was hidden under an intricately painted piano. The grandmotherly lady who ran the bed and breakfast – the one who loaned Helga the 'dress', sat at the piano and played 'I Could Have Danced All Night' as Helga walked into the room. Since I'd last seen her on the stairs, she'd added some rose buds from the backyard to her hair. She smiled crookedly as she approached the me, the priest standing before us with his Bible open in his hands.

There was something very private and sacred about our little ceremony: the old woman sitting placid at the piano, the dust motes floating past the open windows, the old man droning about our marriage in God, our life in Christ – we simply nodded along, irregardless of our personal lack of religion. He finally asked Helga if she would take my hand in marriage, for better or worse, etc.

When she said, " I do," I knew that she was thinking we'd already seen the worst – there could only be better ahead. He turned to me and asked the same.

" May I say a few words?" I asked. The old man shrugged. We heard the timer go off in the kitchen, and the woman rushed out of the room.

" Louise, we need a witness!" the old man barked. She poked her head back in. 

" Let me get the casserole out while he says his piece," she said, " Then call me when its time for 'I do'. That's the part I have to witness, right? I do?" The old man rolled his eyes, and she hurried off. Helga looked at me.

" What is it, Arnold?" she asked. I took her hand and smoothed her skin with my thumb, reassuring. 

" I wanted to say that this reminds me of _Terminator_," I said, and her eyes widened, confused. " No, no listen," I said, when the old man eyed me doubtfully. 

" Remember when, when Sara and the guy – I forget his name – are in the hotel room, and they just – well, they have everything piled on top of them, and they're afraid they won't survive, but – but it doesn't matter. They just love each other, and its so sudden, but its so real."

" It's not so sudden," Helga piped up, her voice small, " He had loved her for years, remember? Ever since Jon showed him Sara's picture. He carried it around with him – he looked at it all the time – it kept him real, gave him hope."

I nodded slowly as I realized she was right – and I realized what I'd been to her. A beckon – a dream of the future. But was this the future she'd dreamt of? This dingy room full of knick-knacks – glass molded bluebirds staring at us from atop an old television set - or did she envision champagne, an elaborate gown, a Cathedral, hundreds of loved ones watching with baited breath?

" It was their secret," I said, squeezing her hands, " There in that hotel room – it was so quiet, and short. But it was theirs, their moment. And it changed everything. Her pregnancy changed everything – all from that tiny moment they took comfort in each other-"

The old man cleared his throat. Helga and I were both in tears – we looked at the old man, then back at each other, broke out of the moment, and giggled.

" Sorry," I said. He sighed.

" I've married a lot of teenage couples," he said, his weary eyes speaking more of it than his words, " I've heard them quote from every cartoon, movie and video game imaginable. Its alright. Shall we continue?" Helga and I nodded.

" Now then," said our makeshift priest, " Do you, Arnold, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and health, for richer or poorer, till death do you part?" 

" I d-"

" Wait - LOUISE!" the old man shouted, " He's saying it!"

" He's saying it!" Helga chimed in, a huge grin on her face.

" What?" she shouted back, and we heard something clamor to the kitchen floor.

" HE'S SAYING 'I DO'!" Helga and the old man both shouted, to Louise's 'Oh!'. She came trotting back into the room – Helga was nearly collapsing with laughter at this point, and I couldn't help joining her, despite my solemn vows.

" Let's hear it, then," Louise said, smiling from the doorway.

" I do," I said, and Helga leapt into my arms. 

" Then by the powers vested in me by the state of New Jersey," the old man said, " Not to mention the Newark First Episcopal Church – I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may – well – there you go." 

We were already kissing.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

We had quite expected to be invited to eat dinner with Louise and her husband – but instead of being led into the kitchen, where the casserole sat finished on the table, we were escorted to our honeymoon suite. It was as cluttered as the living room downstairs, but in a cozier way – flowers that matched the ones in Helga's hair rested in tiny vases on the bedside table and the sink in the small bathroom – old books sat stacked on the dresser, lace curtains covered the window, a worn quilt was draped across the bed.

Helga and I were starving. The first thing we did was order a pizza. Then we raided the bowl of Andes mints that Louise had placed on the dresser. Sitting on the bed unwrapping the mini candies, a surprising layer of thick nervousness settled over the room.

" Heh," Helga said, not looking at me, " We're married." I giggled, and then she did the same. It felt like we'd gotten away with something – skipped school to smoke dope – we were giddy, laughing every time we looked at each other.

" When are you going to tell your parents?" I asked, and she groaned and got up off the bed.

" Oh, let's not talk about that on our wedding night. Let's get down to basics," she said, lifting the bottom of the nightgown, " I've got to get this thing off of me," I heard, muttered through the cloth as she pulled it over her head. She tossed it on the ground and then threw her arms out, looking at me.

" This," she said, " Is Helga Pataki in her underwear," she spun around. " Get used to it," she demanded, and then, " Are you terrified?"

" No," I lied. I couldn't get used to the idea of Helga showing me her true colors. Her true colors – white cotton underwear with faded blue stripes, a beige colored bra with a tiny bow on the front, hanging halfway off. I thought of Ruth's zebra stripes and slippery satin, and decided I much preferred this.

" You've already seen mine," I said, beginning to undo the buttons on my collar shirt.

" Oh," she snorted, " I've seen everything." I grinned. I couldn't believe the proposal and the pool had all happened just the same morning – it seemed like that day had lasted for several weeks. But not in a negative, tiring way – in an enchanting way that defied time.

" Well, here you go again," I said, pulling off the shirt. Helga kneeled on the floor and helped me with my shoes and socks. Off came the pants and the boxers, and my cheeks flushed as red as the roses in her hair. It wasn't the same when I was out of water.

" There you have it," I said, trying to sit comfortably on the bed. Helga's cheeks were red, too. She chewed her lip.

" This is too weird," she decided. I felt irritated with this assessment at first – but,

" I know."

" Let's get under the covers," she suggested. 

" Right!" I said, bounding for them enthusiastically, " One step at a time." I crawled beneath the soft, jersey sheets, resplendent in their protection. Helga slid in beside me, touched my shoulder for a moment, then sank down to the pillows.

" Do you want to . . .?" she trailed off, unable to form the words. Well, okay. One step at a time.

" God, do I!" I said, my voice sounding oddly guttural. I climbed on top of her, and heard her breath catch. I paused, tilting my head.

" I mean – you do, don't you?" I asked her, just to be sure.

" Of course I do!" she said, reaching up and pulling me down onto her, " I mean – we have once already, right?"

" Right!"

" So what's the – you know?"  
" I don't know," I said, " Let me show you something neat."

" Okay."

" Arch your back a little." She did as I asked. I snaked my hand back and found her bra strap, struggled to undo it with one hand.

" You need some help?" she asked after a few minutes.

" No, no, I can do it-"

" Shouldn't you use both hands?" she asked, clearly uncomfortable as my chin jutted into her neck while I worked on the strap.

" No, the whole point is to do it with one," I told her stubbornly.

She groaned as I continued to struggle. " C'mon Arnold-"

" Just give me a second, Helga!" I snapped, furiously groping at the mysterious hooks and clasps. None of Lila's bras were this hard. And Ruth, being the liberated woman that she was, had always taken hers off on her own – I was grossly out of practice.

" Arnold, this is ridiculous, just let me-"  
" Hold still!"

" No! Dammit, I –"

" Helga!"

" Arnold!"

We both started laughing at once, until I had collapsed on top of her, exhasted from struggling with the bra. I finally lifted my head, and looked down at her as she giggled. She looked up at me, bit her lip, and I bent to kiss her.

There was a tremendous knock on the door, and we both jumped and rolled away from each other, as if getting caught in bed together would get us in trouble.

" Your pizza's here!" the old man shouted from the other side of the door. We were silent as his footsteps receded back down the hallway. And then we started laughing again, so hard that it was a wonder we were able to get dressed.

We retrieved our pizza and paid the delivery boy, trotted back up to our room – this time remembering to lock the door. Sitting on our marriage bed, we scarfed an entire large pepperoni-lover's pie. I pushed the box onto the floor when we were done, and we both fell back onto to the pillows – spent. 

" That was good," Helga finally said, patting her stomach.

" Umm-hmm," I agreed, " I admire a woman who can finish her half of a pizza."

" Well," she said, turning toward me and leaning on her elbow, " I had some help." She gestured toward her occupied tummy. 

" Ah, yes," I said, lifting her shirt and tracing patterns on her bare stomach. 

" Does he ever – kick or anything?" I asked timidly. 

" So the baby is a 'he' all of a sudden?" she said with a wink, " And no, Arnold. He – or she – is not even two months old yet. Just a clump of cells with a heartbeat. Leg-less so far."

" Yuck!" I said, wrinkling my nose at her, " Don't call him leg-less!"

" Well he _is_," she said. " Its called prenatal development, Arnoldo. Legs don't happen overnight. And anyway, I'm proud of our baby's humble beginnings. He's got his heartbeat, and that's all I'm to ask of him so far, or so says my doctor."

I was quiet for a moment, tracing words on her stomach. F-A-T-H-E-R, and then M-E, and finally, A-R-N-O-L-D, to be more specific. 

" Can we go to the doctor tomorrow and get another sonogram?" I asked her. We had already had one, but that was after only two weeks, and it didn't have much personality. I had a sudden urge to see my baby.

" Sure," she said, smiling, " But don't you want to keep the sex a surprise?"

" Oh, I dunno," I said, lying back and putting my arms behind my head, 

" Gotta have enough time to think up good names before he – or she – is born."

" True," she said, " Its totally creepy when people don't immediately name their children after they're born – if you don't have a name, its like you're not real or something! You're just this anonymous . . ." she trailed off. " You're certainly into the idea of the baby all of a sudden," she said, picking at a loose thread in the bedspread. " What brought this on?"

" What do you mean?" I asked, frowning, " I've always been _into_ the baby." I realized as soon as I said this that it was a tremendous lie, and wondered myself why I was suddenly so – well, not terrified, not like before.

" Its just –" she said, still not looking at me, " Before, anytime I said anything about the pregnancy, you turned blue and looked like you'd be sick." She giggled nervously.

I touched her chin and turned her face toward mine, " This is me taking responsibility for my life," I told her, " And it feels great – like the first sure step I've taken in months."

" Is that all you're doing?" she asked quietly, looking away again, " Taking responsibility?" I groaned and rubbed my forehead.

" Helga!" I said, " What do I have to do – beyond _marrying_ you – to prove that I love you? That I _want_ to spend my life with you?"

She sat up and looked down at me indignantly. " I don't know!" she cried, 

" _Some_-thing!" I jerked upright and grabbed her arms, looked her in the eyes.

" Do you want me to say it?" I asked, fed up with her doubts about me, " Do you have to hear it out loud? Alright, Helga – as corny as it may sound, I think it was fate. Our meeting in that bathroom that night – in the, _inebriated_ state we were in, and everything that followed – yes, it was an awkward way to fall together, but how else would it have happened? I think it had to happen this way. It was our destiny."

She stared at me for a good ten seconds, and then burst into laughter. Aghast, I watched as she actually _rolled_ on the bed in hilarity.

" WHAT?" I demanded, embarrassed. 

" That was," she said, gasping in loud chortles, " SO cheesy!" she curled into a ball again, laughing.

" Oh, for God's sake!" I said, hurt, climbing off the bed, " I don't have to take this," I grumbled. She grabbed my hand and pulled me back.

" No, Arnold, wait," she said, smiling and touching my face, " It was sincere. That's what's important. And its what I believe, too – just, I dunno. It sounded . . ." she snorted, " Funny. Out loud."

" Geez," I muttered, my pride stamped on. " I was just trying to get you to – take me seriously." At this, she broke into laughter again. 

" Sorry, sorry!" she said, trying to make her face serious. " Don't be mad at me, football head," she said, her childhood nickname for me turning strangely seductive and making my blood boil in all the best places. " I love you."

I smiled. It was the first time she'd said it. 

" I know," I said, scooting closer to her on the bed – our noses touched.

She gasped and pretended to be offended, " How long have you known?" she whispered, " My big secret." 

" Ever since . . . I had a heartbeat," I bluffed with a grin. Helga reached out and placed a hand over my heart, pursed her lips.

" Oh, yeah," she said, " Smart guy? I'll have you know that I didn't love you from the womb." 

" No?"

She shook her head. " I remember the exact moment you had me," she said, " It was when . . ." she looked up at me. I raised an eyebrow, brought my hand up and traced the curve of her neatly plucked eyebrows, her cheekbone, her jaw. 

" When?" I whispered. I already knew the answer.

" You gave me your umbrella," she said, her voice small, her eyes locked on mine.

" Famous last words," I said, remembering when she last spoke them – right before we made love. 

Would she always speak those words before we fell together? Would we remember our own humble beginnings each time we were in each other's arms? Our track record so far indicated yes – for the second time, Helga's words sent us crumbling into an embrace.

_You gave me your umbrella_.

This, our second time, was different. It was slow, gentle - a toe in the bath water first, then a leg, finally all the sensitive middle parts, until there was nothing to be afraid of – just sliding into warmth. After all the mindless trysts with Ruth, searching for something her cold walls couldn't give me, I couldn't stop tears from streaking my cheeks when I finally found my comfort in Helga.

" How could I forget this?" I whispered when we were through, lying entwined under that old quilt, the last, dark orange parts of the sunset sinking outside past the lace curtains.

" Shhhh," Helga said, wiping away what was left of my tears. " You didn't forget," she said, quiet, kissing me softly, " Its in you, somewhere."

She was right – our baby's conception, that blurred night in Rhonda's bathroom – it wasn't the most romantic encounter, but it was still the night we found each other, in our own screwed up way. And it had implanted something intangible in me just as it had physically in her – a nostalgia for her, a pang that sent me looking for her in everything, struggling to get back to what had slipped away – my place in Helga's arms. I smiled at her, found her hands under the covers and brought them to my lips, kissed them repeatedly. She laughed.

" What?" she asked, searching my eyes.

" I'm happy," I told her, squeezing her smaller hands inside of mine. She giggled.

" Oh no," she said, tut-tutting, " You'll jinx us."

" Ha," I said, shaking my head, " Nothing can touch this."

God, I was in for a surprise. I want to go back and slap myself awake, tell the naïve teenager I was to stay alert – that the fates are a cruel, cruel force.

But I believed then that we were safe. And in that single moment, of course we were. Drifting into sleep in each other's arms. Finally, finally.

Best night of my life. And, exhausted, I wasted the whole thing sleeping. If only I'd have known. I would have stayed awake, watched my new wife sleeping. But how the hell was I to know that it would be my last chance?

Part seven coming soon! Thank you for all the positive feedback! ~ Mena ^_^


	7. Won't Be Forever

Part VII – Won't/Be/Forever

We woke to organ music, coming quietly from a radio downstairs. It was Sunday morning, and light streamed into the windows of our honeymoon suite like a gentle supernova – Helga sat up beside me, her mussed hair shining in a halo of random strands around her face. She looked at me, her eyes thick with sleep, and blinked.

            " _What?" she said, squinting at me. I yawned and stretched my arms over my head, wishing we could go back to sleep – but we had a checkout time – another couple would be coming through, preforming our motions, though perhaps less inspired. _

            " I didn't say anything," I said, reaching for her. She shook her head.

            " I know –" she said, curling against my side, " Its just – I wake and you're – I don't know. It prompts: _What?"_

            " Shut up, Helga," I said, finally, pulling her into a kiss. She gave me an aggrivated look, then gave in. I wanted her to feel comfortable with me, though. Not amazed, or shocked, or anything but comfortable. We broke our kiss and looked at each other, grinning smartly. We felt like we'd beaten some invisible odds. 

            " Let's go home, huh?" I said, smoothing her hair. She nodded.

            " I've got a lot of explaining to do," she said, referring to her still clueless parents. We both rolled out of bed and got dressed, and went downstairs to check out at the old lady's front desk. She turned down her church music and reguarded us with some seriousness.

            " Good luck," she said, her eyes narrowing a bit. She seemed to be searching for more prolific words – but when they didn't come, we just waved goodbye, thanked her, and left. 

            It was the brightest daylight we'd ever seen. Outside of the city – even if it was the suburbs and not the country – we felt like we could breathe. We rolled all the windows down when we drove home, Helga sitting back in her movie star sunglasses, me at the wheel. The husband and the wife – every move she made was half mine now – she was my _wife in the passenger seat, my baby growing inside her. It made me want to cry with something that was happiness and disbelief. But I only smiled, only reached over to squeeze her hand._

            " What will we do now?" she asked as the city's gray, mammoth buildings appeared again on the horizon. 

            " We'll take the bridge back to Brooklyn," I stalled, knowing, of course, what she really meant. She sighed and looked out the window. Coming up on the Hudson River, we saw it sparkle as if non-polluted – from a distance, it looked even pristine, in this light.

            " I mean, where will we go?" she asked. " After I tell my parents – will we live in the boarding house?" She didn't sound thrilled about the idea.

            " I have a big room," I said, " It won't be forever."

            Boy, was I right about that. We reached Helga's brownstone too soon – it would be the last time we saw each other on good terms. She looked up at her house, then back at me – we'd played this scene before. 

            " Do you want me to come with you?" I asked, and she shook her head violently.

            " No, God, that would make it a thousand times harder," she said, surprising me, " Bob would – no, just – wait on that one."

            " Alright," I said, reaching toward her as she climbed out of the car. " Hey," I said, " We don't even have . . . rings."

            She looked at me earnestly, kicking the pavement with her toe and leaning back into the car. 

            " When we die," she said, " They can cut us open and count our rings." I made a face, and she grinned, pleased: " Its from a poem," she said, her cheeks growing pink. " We don't need rings. We've got them, on the inside. Fuck symbolism."

            With that, she slammed her door shut, gave me a wave, and dissapeared into the brownstone. Her last words to my face in kindness: Fuck symbolism. Fuck it, indeed.

I drove home, worrying only for her parents' reaction to the news, wondering what Grandpa had been talking about yesterday when he said he had something for me. I parked the car on the curb outside, and felt my heart rate increase as I approached the brownstone. Without even meaning to, I had been the perfect grandson all my life. Good grades. No drugs, little drinking. No violent rebellions or even artful angst. 

            And now this?

            I didn't want to be ashamed of what Helga and I had done – our marriage, our decision to make a life together. But behind it there was that first act. Something dark moved through me – would it always be there, our beginning as a mistake? I pushed the thought away. What was any turn in life but a mistake of some sort? Hadn't my parents done the right thing – taken the righteous path, followed their humanitarian goodness to the ends of the earth – and wouldn't they take it back in an instant if they had the chance? There were no right decisions, I decided, climbing the stairs, there was only where you landed. 

            Thinking of it this way – of my parents 'landing' somewhere – made me say a silent prayer for them. Or, it was less a prayer – more of an appeal. Where are you? I whispered soundlessly from the pit of my stomach. My eyes focused on the wood grain of the boarding house's door – they would have closed it when they left me. I put my hand on the doorknob and thought of my father's sliding off of it as he turned to go.

            The silent street behind me and the glare of the sky above remained silent on the subject of their whereabouts. There were no signs, I'd come to learn, to accept. There would not be a gust of wind at my back or a pidgeon landing on my shoulder. 

            But I sure as hell wished they were there then, not to tell me that I was doing the right thing – I knew I was; it wasn't the sort of thing you did without first knowing. But to tell me that everything would be okay. 

            I opened the door.

            The boarding house was quiet; a rare phenomena. I walked through the foyer and heard the scrape of a coffee mug across the counter in the kitchen, froze. 

            " Grandpa?" I called. My voice was small – I felt like a child. I knew that then and always I would be one to him. 

            " Come on in, short man," he called. I followed his voice into the dirty little kitchen. Would my parents have been happy here, I couldn't help but wonder as I walked in and looked around. The coat of dust on top of the small refridgerator caught my eye. 

            Grandpa was sitting at the counter, holding his coffee cup but not drinking. The steam from the mug crept up to his face – so wrinkled now that pictures of himself as a young man felt like those of a stranger even to him. He was old, and tired, but carried on with a spring in his step – for my sake, I suddenly saw. He knew I needed him. 

            The dingy floor – not tile, not formica – I couldn't think of the word. The ant-ridden cat food bowls by the door. The flimsey curtains over the window, with their mysterious yellow spots.

            " Arnold," I heard my grandfather say over the growing buzz in my ears. " Sit down and talk to me for a minute." 

            My ass found the chair but my eyes were everywhere – the gaping marks on the ceiling that showed the leaky upstairs bathroom's damage. The too-loud hiss of the broken radiator – my grandfather's high-waisted pants, the view from the kitchen window of the dirty brick building next door. They would have hated it here. They had come from jungles, from ruby sunsets and thundering waterfalls – the beautiful views! They would have sipped coffee on montaintops. I looked at my grandfather's own cup, the steam waning slowly. 

            " Arnold," he said, placing a weathered old hand over mine. " I just want to make sure you know what you're doing."

            Even with the roar of the plane that took them away, it wouldn't have hit them. No, they had me to distract them. But oh, when they stepped through the door. And the stink of the traffic – everyday the same smells, but they still caught you off guard sometimes. The people arguing over coupons at the supermarket – God, they had saved lives! They had walked over ancient ruins!

            " Do you know what you're doing, son?" grandpa asked again when I didn't respond. 

            Tears came to my eyes as it washed over me. I had to forgive them. What they had known – and to resolve to this, for me. The very color of the thin carpets in the hall – it was unnatural, it wasn't meant for them. Yes, they would have had had more than a moment's hesitation at leaving me. But what would have pushed them over the edge was not what they were aiming for when they left, but the place they were leaving. In their minds they were already halfway out the door. Coming back a second time would have been harder, too hard.

            " I'm staying behind," I told him, my voice hollow. I looked up at him and let him see me cry for the first time since I was ten years old. 

            " Arnold," my grandfather said, squeezing my hand. 

            " They left me," I cried, the realization like a kick in the gut. I'd always thought that my parents had been taken away from me – by their sense of responsibility, so unflinching in myself for years – I had clung to it as an absolute truth, because it was the only thing that made sense – the only thing that could have wrenched them from me. If it wasn't real, if it wasn't the one thing to live by, then why had they left? What other reason could there have been?

            The reason was all around me, suddenly. What cradled me as my home had suffocated them. I saw my mother. Her ghost, or my vision of her – sitting across the kitchen, at the table. In a green dress. Staring down at her hands. 

            Catalouging the things she had once done with the same hands. Plugged a wound. Saved some lives. Yes, one she'd made a difference. And now her son crying in the next room – wasn't it the same? Why didn't it feel the same?

            " You can't think of it that way, Arnold," my grandfather admonished softly. " It wasn't that easy for them. They had an obligation to help those people." 

            He doesn't know, I realized, a weight dropping into my stomach. He didn't know what was suddenly obvious to me. My poor mother stood up at the table and looked at me, her giant, green eyes pleading. 

            _My darling we try everyday._

            Her voice was in my ears, but the image I saw of her was still; her lips didn't move.

            _Everyday we get up and say this is the day we fly home._

            Grandpa started talking to me about the future – the economy?

            _But then we say First we'll make breakfast._

            He told me, in the midst of my mother's breathless apology, that the government had been giving him money to help raise me since my parents had been declared legally dead.

            _Then we say, We'll have a bath before we get dressed._

            It wasn't much, he said.

            _Well, we want to look nice for you. Everyday we think: We'll want to look nice._

            But he'd been putting it away, scrapping by with a little less to try and save it up.

            _And you've never had a bath in a lagoon, have you?_

            He said he thought he had close to forty thousand dollars saved.

            _Its incredible. So we take our time – it always leads to love-making._

            A lousy consolation for losing your son, he said, but the government did what they could.

            _How many parents of eighteen year old children can say they still make love everyday?_

            Arnold, he said, I wanted you to go to college.

            _Then we come out of our spell. I look up at the sky and trace the lines of latitude overhead back to you._

            Maybe you still could?

            _They are supposed to be invisible, but I can see them. I see you in them, waiting for us._

            Either way, my grandfather said, I know you'll have a great life.

            _For the rest of the day we say We'll go tommorow._

            Grandpa told me that he'd leave the boarding house to me, but he'd understand if I wanted to stake out elsewhere.

            _But the sunsets are so beautiful._

            Because I had my father's blood in me – You'll want adventure, he said.

            _Arnold, we try everyday._

            She faded, and I looked to my grandfather. His eyes were sad, but strangely hopeful. I saw in him, suddenly, what I'd been looking for – the promise that everything would be okay.

            " Grandpa," I said, snapping out of my trance, wiping my nose. " They gave that money to you, to help you out while you were raising me. Its not my money – its yours."

            He gave me a look.

            " Arnold," he said, " I'm glad to hear you're still a do-gooder, son, I really am. But this is taking it a little too far – I'm an old man! What am I going to do with all that money? I've lived my life, Arnold. As far as I'm concerned, that money belongs to you."

            " I just don't want you to suffer for – something that I've done," I said, rubbing my hands over my face. " You've already given up your whole life to raise me."

            " Oh, c'mon!" he said, laughing. " I gave up nothing! Think of how bored Pookie and I would have been without you here. A little youth in the house was good for us both – and anyhow, you were such a good kid, its not like we had much to do, 'cept feeding you!"

            " Well," I said, " I just don't want you to feel like you have to rescue me. I'm trying to . . . take responsibility on my own."

            " Arnold, I would have given you the money anyway," he said, " I was always planning on it." I wasn't sure if I believed him, but slowly it began to dawn on me – forty thousand dollars.

In the big scheme of things it wasn't a lot of money, but it was a place to start. Money to rent an apartment – our own place, and we'd buy our own dishes and our own sofa and everything would be brand new and ours . . . my head started filling with visions: Helga and I dragging a  Christmas tree through the door at the end of the year, me fussing over her, because her stomach would be huge then. She'd tell me she was fine, and stand back while I adjusted the tree into its holder. It would fall on my head, I would curse. We would laugh, and at the end of the night, like every night, we would climb into bed together – our own bed with our own sheets. I imagined mattress shopping with Helga – my foot started tapping under the table with excitement. 

            " Grandpa," I said, hopping up and putting my arms around his bony shoulders. He chuckled and returned my hug, patting my back.

            " You're going to do just fine, Arnold," he assured me. " I know you're young, but Pookie and I were even younger when we got married. Barely your age when we had your Dad, and he turned out just fine. It will be hard, but you're such a good kid. I know you'll be a great father."

            I felt a tear slide down my cheek – it was one of the few times I'd spoken with my grandfather when he hadn't tried to cover his emotions with jokes. We released each other and he sat back, placed a hand on his bony knee.

            " Well," he said, " Where's the bride?"

            " Heh," I wiped my eyes, " She went home to tell her parents that we got married."

            " Oh boy," Grandpa said, drinking from his coffee. " So she's . . . in the family way, you say?"

            My cheeks burned red. " Yep." And then, " I'm sorry."

            " Well, Arnold," he said with a sigh, equally embarrassed, " You . . . love her?"

            " I love her so much," I gushed, and I realized then that it hadn't fully washed over me until that moment. I wanted her with me, immediately – she was my wife, and I didn't want to be apart from her anymore. My leg continued tapping anxiously under the table – I wondered how soon I could call her. Grandpa smiled, and in his face I saw his forgiveness. He'd never asked me to be perfect. I'd just done it anyway – and the release of him, my perfect self, felt vindicating.

            I left the kitchen, my mind buzzing with what felt like the endless possibilities of the money Grandpa had promised. Helga had said we didn't need rings – well, she was probably just trying to make a poor dope feel better about his empty pockets. But now! I thought, I would buy her the biggest diamond I could find. 

            I wanted to call her, but was afraid she'd still be in the midst of her conversation with Big Bob and Miriam, the admitting that had gone so well for me. I prayed that they didn't chastise her – I wasn't sure if she could recover from another of their assaults. At the same time I hoped they at least reacted – if they brushed her off, if they continued to ignore her, it would sting her just as badly. 

            I took a hot bath, soaked in the water and stared up at the tiny bathroom window. Shutting my eyes and resting my head on the edge of the tub, I tried to relax, but I was too excited, and nervous at the same time. I could feel the fragility of the beginning of our new life – I wanted to have Helga in my arms, I knew if we were together nothing could stop us. Being apart felt dangerous. 

            When I climbed out of the tub I was contemplating whether or not it was too soon to call her, and the phone rang before I could decide. Grabbing a towel and wrapping it around my waist, I ran out into the hall and grabbed it on the first ring.

            I meant to say 'hello,' but it came out, " Helga?"

            " Yes," she said, giggling. " How'd you know?"

            " I don't know," I said, exhaling in relief when I heard her happy tone, " Come over," I begged, " Come over right now, I miss you."

            She laughed. " Already?"

            " Helga," I said, " I have some great news. But first – did you tell them?"     

            " Yes," she said plainly, " Arnold, its going to be okay. It really is."

            " I know, I know," I said, twisting my arm up in the phone cord like a nervous school girl, " I can hardly believe it, but I think you're right."

            " Bob and Miriam – I should have known how they'd react," she said with a scoff, " Naturally they're thrilled to have me off their hands – Bob is a little pissed that I'm not going to college, and very pissed that I'm pregnant, but its like the fact that I got married makes up for all of it – they've got someone else to pass me off to."

            " Helga . . ."

            " And the best part," she said, genuinely satisfied with this reaction from her parents, somehow, " Is that he's giving me the money he had set aside for my college tuition. Just for the first year, but still – its twenty thousand dollars, Arnold!"

            " My grandfather gave me forty thousand," I gushed without preamble.

            " _What_?"

            " Yep," I said, " He's been saving it since my parents – well." That wound was still fresh.      

            " Holy hell!" she said in a belly laugh, " What are we going to do with all of this money?"

            " Take care of our baby," I answered with the obvious, " She's going to have everything."

            " Or he," Helga contested, " I think it's a boy."

            " How do you know?" I asked, grinning into the phone.

            " I don't know," she said, " Arnold, I love you." We both giggled – over the phone, neither of us had the inhibitions that sometimes surfaced in person, and it slipped out easily and sweetly.

            " Come over," I pleaded again, " Will you?"           

            " Oh, not tonight," she said, " Olga and I are supposed to have 'bonding time,' or something."

            " What do you mean?" I felt somewhat dejected – she was my wife, and I wanted her with me.

            She sighed. " She's visiting, naturally," she told me, " And when I told her about everything that happened she burst into tears and insisted that we spend the night together, junior high sleepover style with s'mores and nail polish and everything. She wants to hear the story of my life. She says we don't really 'know' each other." 

            " Well," I said, " Maybe it's a good idea." 

            " I'm dreading it," she muttered, " But I don't want to step out of line and offend princess First Born, or they might yank the cash back from me."

            " That's noble," I said, laughing.

            " It is, if you think of the money in terms of formula and diapers," she rationalized.

            " Maybe you and your sister will finally make peace," I said, trying to optimistic, though something about her spending the night away from me seemed fundamentally wrong.

            " I don't think she ever realized we were at odds with each other," she said with a sardonic chuckle. " But hey, let's go in for that sonogram tommorow. See how he's grown?"

            " I'll come get you at the crack of dawn," I promised, " We'll be the first ones in."

            " Actually," she said, her voice demuring a bit, " I kind of have this . . . fantasy."

            " Yeah?" I said, my face flushing. 

            " Yeah," she answered, " For the longest time I've wanted to . . . well. Sneak into your room in and climb under the covers with you while you were asleep. Even when I was a kid, before I wanted sex, before I even knew what it was. I just wanted to lie beside you. I just wanted to walk right in and not be afraid that you'd reject me."

            " God, Helga," I said, " I want you to lie next to me every night –"

            " I know, I know," she said, " We're together know – hard as it still is for me to believe – and I know I'm welcome to it. But . . . this one last time, I just want to live out the fantasy, in your childhood room, the one I always dreamed of walking into. Can I come over tommorow morning? Can I climb into bed and wake you up?"

            " Of course you can," I said, " I'll tell Grandpa you're coming over early, and have him let you in."

            " Oh, that won't be quite as romantic," she joked, " I was hoping to climb through a window. But I suppose it'll do." 

            After we hung up I wondered if I'd be able to sleep – it was strange, but I couldn't wait to feel her in my arms again – to wake up and find her crawling under the covers, snuggling against me. When I climbed into bed at the end of the night, I felt empty, wishing for her warm body to be pressed against mine again.

            " Helga," I moaned into my pillow. I knew I was being a pathetic moron – she'd be there in five or six hours; she'd promised to come early. But I knew, partly, even then. I knew something was about to go wrong. I slept fitfully, dreamt of her, walking ahead of me with our baby in her arms. I kept calling for her, in the dream, asking her to wait for me. She wouldn't stop. I dreamt also of my parents, sitting in a grass hut communing with the natives. I saw the sadness in their eyes, the apology. I turned away from them.

            When I woke up soft blue light was streaming through my skylights. Before I even opened my eyes I felt something stir in the room, and was automatically alarmed. Then I remembered Helga's promise to show up early and slide against my skin – I wondered, still cold and alone in bed, why she'd hesitated. I searched the room for her, and found a woman's form standing near the door. My lips started to turn into a smile.

            I still remember halting, pausing – my whole body froze when my eyes focused on the figure by the door.

            Ruth. Ruth McDougal was standing in my room.

            Grinning.


	8. You'll Never Know

* * *

A/N: Sorry it's taken me so long to update, but I am now determined to finish this story. Thanks to everyone who has encouraged me to do so. To make up for the long wait, this chapter is 25 pages long, and full of the juicy twists I had planned. I hope you'll enjoy. :)

8. You'll/Never/Know

I rubbed my eyes, sitting up in bed. I thought, maybe if I brushed away the sleep there, I could make my vision of Ruth disappear. But when I took my hands away there she was, still standing in the middle of my room, wearing a slinky skirt, a tank top, and an evil smile.

" What . . ." was all I could say. I prayed I was having a nightmare. I hadn't seen Ruth since I'd stumbled out of her house the night before I asked Helga to marry me, and her reappearance could only mean disaster.

" Arnold," she said with a grin, walking slowly toward me. "Your grandfather just said the funniest thing to me, when I showed up at your doorstep . . ."

" You can't be here," I said, remembering Helga's promise to come over early, to join me in bed before we left to go have a look at her sonogram.

" It seemed as if he was expecting me!" she said with a laugh, putting a hand on her hip. "He welcomed me right in –"

" Ruth, you've got to leave!" I said, standing, angrier now. I was wearing only the boxer shorts I had fallen asleep in, and I watched Ruth survey by body.

" He asked me how the baby was doing," she said absently, looking at my bare chest. She flicked her eyes up to mine, and I felt an icy crush inside my stomach, the floor dropping from beneath me. I had told Grandpa, who always got up at dawn, not to be surprised if my new wife came to the door. He hadn't seen Helga in years, and his memory was not exactly a bear trap. He had mistaken Ruth, who, for some ungodly reason, had shown up at the boarding house, for Helga.

" Ruth, you've got to _go_," I said, walking to my bedroom door and holding it open for her, my breathing quickening as I realized how badly this could go. She walked toward me, but instead of sliding out of the room she slammed a palm against the door and pushed it shut, pressing herself to me as she did, my back against the door.

" I'll admit I was caught quite off guard," Ruth mused, as if we were having a casual conversation. She ran a finger along the outside of my ear, and I jerked my head away from her touch.

" Get off of me," I said, gritting my teeth.

" My baby?" she continued, ignoring my protests, her eyes on my shoulder. "My baby is gone, has been for a long time." She jerked her eyes up to mine, and I swallowed. I wanted to rail against her, but suddenly it all fell onto me – how much pain this girl who had me imprisoned under her grip was in. She had mentioned, when I told her Helga was pregnant, that she had gotten "the operation" when under the same circumstances.

She smiled at me – a sick sort of false expression.

" It was fun, though," she said softly. "I got to play the damsel in distress, right? I answered him, 'Fine.' My baby's fine. He hugged me! He told me how happy he was that I was a part of the family now!" She laughed out loud, a sort of cold cackle that made my skin prickle with goosebumps.

" Ruth—"

" Arnold, dear, have you gone and gotten married?" she asked, lifting my hand and searching for a ring.

" Ruth, what do you care?" I asked, sliding away from her. "What happened between us, it wasn't . . ."

" Real?" she said, lifting her eyes to mine. I watched them go from a creepy imitation of mirth to stone cold loathing, and pressed my back closer to the door. I saw how much I had hurt her, and it made me feel like horrible, but at the same time, I was afraid for my life.

" I'm sorry if I –"I began, but before I could finish she had whipped her tank top off over her head. She was bra-less beneath it, and she pressed her bare chest to mine, grasping desperately at my shoulders.

" Maybe if you can make me pregnant, too," she said, a wildness in her voice that I didn't know how to respond to, "Maybe it will be okay." Her bottom lip started to quiver. "Can you make things okay again, Arnold?" she asked, her voice shaking. "Can you save me, too?"

" Ruth . . ." I said, my heart breaking for her. She crumbled against me, sinking to the floor, crying. I realized that she probably hadn't even come to the door – Grandpa must have seen her when he was picking up the morning newspaper: Ruth, haunting the sidewalk outside, staring up at the house. He would have taken her for Helga, invited her in – Ruth got a first-rate tour of the life the Other Girl got to have.

Ruth had played the game of not caring so well that I had eaten in right up. I had been so wrapped up in Helga that I didn't even realize I was breaking Ruth's heart all the while. I thought of her alone all day in that giant penthouse, sitting and waiting for me to call and tell her she was right. That I couldn't do it with Helga, I couldn't be the good guy and plug it out until the end. That there were no happy endings, only girls left alone to do what they had to do, like she had been.

I put my arms around her fragile shoulders and let her weep against me, there on the floor.

" I'm sorry," I chanted again and again. "I'm so sorry, Ruth."

I sighed and looked around the room for the clock – Helga would be coming soon, and I still had to get Ruth out of there before she arrived. I opened my mouth to ask her if there were any family members or friends I could call for her, someone to pick her up and stay with her, tell her it was going to be okay. I had already made that promise to someone else, and I wouldn't be presumptuous enough to promise the same for Ruth.

That was when I saw it – a face in my window. Looking in from my fire escape was a pair of blue eyes framed by blonde hair – one I had known since I was a little boy. Now the face of my wife – Helga's face.

So she had come to the window after all.

" Wait," I said without thinking, under my breath, too softly to be heard. Ruth, oblivious, sighed against my shoulder. Helga's face disappeared.

" Wait!" I called, louder now, letting Ruth fall from my arms, standing and running to the window. When I reached it I threw it open, and saw Helga climbing frantically down the ladder that led up to the fire escape.

" Helga, stop!" I said, throwing one leg out of the window, onto the fire escape. I could hear her crying as she reached the alley below, and she set off running without a word.

" Stop!" I cried, starting down the ladder. My head was spinning. I could explain. It wasn't what it looked like. But it had looked so perfect. Ruth and I, both half-dressed, holding each other in my room.

At the thought of what Helga saw, of how completely destroyed this one image would leave her, I lost my head and missed a rung on the ladder. I tried to grab onto it again as I fell backwards, but my hands were shaking too violently.

I heard Ruth, who was now watching from the open window above, scream as I fell toward the alley.

And then I felt the concrete meet my skull, and it was all wiped away.

* * *

When I opened my eyes a bright light was shining into them. I blinked it away, groaning at a sudden pain that spread from the back of my head all the way down my spine.

" He's awake!" an unfamiliar voice called, and the light snapped off. For a few moments longer, I still couldn't see, but pretty soon my grandfather's smiling face came into focus.

" You okay, short man?" he asked.

" He'll be fine," the man with the light answered, standing. I realized slowly that he was a paramedic. Things came rushing back to me – the fire escape, Helga. I cast my eyes around the room and saw Ruth, fully dressed now, standing with a cup of tea and a distraught look on her usually confident face.

" Helga," I muttered, trying to sit up, a blinding pain in my neck forcing me back down again. I groaned, pinching my eyes shut.

" He'll be sore for a little while – he fell almost eight feet," the paramedic said, packing up his bag. "Keep him still for the rest of the day, and if the pain persists you can bring him into the hospital –"

He broke off when he saw me trying, in great discomfort, to sit up again.

" Hold it there, cowboy!" he said accusingly, and I glared at him and let my head drop back down onto the couch.

" There's something I have to do," I muttered, everything still a bit fuzzy.

" Well, it'll have to wait," the paramedic said. "No activity today, do you understand?"

I said nothing. I knew there was no use arguing with him – I would have to wait until he left. I shut my eyes and thought of Helga – God, where was she? I knew I had to get to her, and fast, if I had any chance of explaining what she had seen.

After the paramedics left, I looked up to see Grandpa and Ruth peering curiously down at me.

" Now that we know you're okay, short man," Grandpa said, looking from me to Ruth. "Would one of you kids mind explaining to me what in the sam hell's going on here?"

" I lied," Ruth said quickly, letting out a ragged sigh. "I – I'm not who you thought I was." Grandpa nodded, and looked down at me.

" I married Helga, Grandpa," I said. "Helga, remember? The girl with the pigtails?"

He scratched his head.

" The unibrow," Ruth offered dryly.

" Ah, yes!" Grandpa said, a light bulb flicking on. "Interesting . . . choice, Arnold!"

I rolled my eyes. "She doesn't have a unibrow anymore," I snapped, again trying to sit up.

" Whoa, where ya going there, pal?" Grandpa asked, gently pushing me back down. "You heard the doctor. And I still don't understand why this young lady had me believing she was the one you married." He glanced at Ruth.

" I – I didn't know what I was saying," Ruth quickly explained. " I was upset. And – this is all my fault . . . I shouldn't have come here." She looked at me.

" I'm sorry," was all I could say to her. She nodded somberly and picked up her purse, which was sitting on the coffee table by the couch. She leaned over me and kissed my forehead, looking into my eyes.

" Forget it," she said sadly. "Its not your fault." With that, she straightened, nodding with a sheen of embarrassment to my grandfather, and went out the door without looking back.

It was the last time I ever saw her.

When Ruth left, Grandpa sat down on the coffee table and sighed.

" I'm still confused," he said. "Am I having a senior moment, or does none of this make any sense?"

" Second option," I groaned, staring at the ceiling. I felt like my life was ending and there was nothing I could do about it. My head was pounding.

" But – you are really married, aren't you?" he asked. I nodded as best I could with my minor head injury.

" I don't know for how long, though," I mumbled, trying to sit up again.

" Cut that out, short man!" Grandpa said, standing. "No moving, remember?"

" I have to!" I shouted, loosing my patience. "Helga saw me with Ruth. She thinks – I had something going on – with her."

" Oh boy," Grandpa said, putting his palm to his forehead. "You didn't, though, right?"

" Not . . . really," I muttered. "Not since I was married, anyway!"

" Cripes, Arnold!" Grandpa exclaimed. "I never realized your life was so complex!"

" Anyway, I have to go explain to Helga that all of this is just a big mistake, a misunderstanding," I said, sitting up again, and this time making it up onto my elbows.

" Can't you just give her a phone call?" Grandpa pleaded, nervously watching my struggle to sit up straight.

" No, I've got to see her," I said, feeling a desperate need inside of me grow stronger once I said it out loud. I HAD to see her. Immediately. With this in mind, I swung my legs over the couch, gritting my teeth and trying to ignore the accompanying pain.

" I don't know, Arnold," Grandpa said, watching me. "Maybe she just needs some time to cool her heels before you talk?"

" You don't know Helga," I mumbled, imagining all the walls I'd slowly broken down throughout the summer being bricked over again. Every minute that passed without an explanation felt like another piece of her heart that I was tearing out – I had to see her as soon as possible.

When I was finally able to stand, Grandpa helped me to the door.

" I'll get the car," he said.

" No," I said. "I'll walk. I – I have to go alone."

Grandpa chewed his lip, watching me go for the doorknob. A sudden sadness seemed to sweep over him, and I realized that he was thinking of his son, my father, going out this same door, in a hurray and on his way to right a crisis. My eyes went to the spot on the floor where I had sat, three years old, watching them go, too.

" I'll be back," I assured him, and he offered me a half-smile.

" Good luck, short man," he said.

* * *

As I jogged down the sidewalk toward Helga's house, the pain in my head and neck grew stronger. I winced with every step, my back aching and my head pounding from the impact. But I kept moving, the sun beating down on me as I went. We could still make it to our sonogram appointment if we hurray, I thought, a bit of insanity setting in over the pain and confusion of the day.

When I reached Helga's brownstone I was sweating, short of breath, and desperate to lay eyes on her. If we can just look each other straight in the eye, I thought, she'll know I'm telling her the truth when I let her know everything with Ruth and I is long over.

But I couldn't completely believe that. My hand was trembling as I reached out to knock on her door – I was terrified of the wrath she would unleash. I couldn't even imagine how much seeing me with Ruth had hurt her.

I knocked.

There was no answer, but I could hear movement inside the house. A woman's whispered voice – heavy footsteps on a wooden floor. I swallowed my fear, and knocked again.

I'll set this all right, I told myself, my heart hammering. She'll believe me. She loves me – she'll believe me.

But even as I told myself this, I felt guilty. It was my fault Ruth had shown up at the house that morning – I had been careless with her. When had I become so careless? Careless enough to get Helga pregnant. To break Ruth's heart, and to somehow have the two pitted against each other, both believing I was in love with the other.

My grandfather wasn't the only one who hadn't realized before that my life was so complex. But I told myself this was all behind me, I would fix things with Helga and we would move on happily and look back on this and laugh. That is, we would if she ever opened the door.

" Helga?" I called inside. I heard something drop to the floor – sounded like a glass tumbler. A woman cursed. "Hello?" I called. I knocked again. I waited. Nothing.

I ran around to the side of the building, but the ladder on Helga's fire escape had been pulled up. Jogging back around to the front, I felt a sudden surge that I couldn't push away. This was my life, slipping quickly away from me. These were the minutes that were making every difference. I knew it then, somehow – this day would change the rest of my life, one way or another. I jogged up to the door and pounded loudly on it.

" Helga, I know you're in there!" I shouted. "Please, you've got to open the door! Please, Helga, let me explain! It was nothing – I know how it looked, but Ruth was – Oh, Helga, just let me in and I'll tell you!" I gave the door a few more pounds and waited.

My cries were only met with silence. I felt a quavering in my chest, and I knew I was going to loose it soon.

" Helga please!" I screamed, now at the top of my lungs. "Don't be stupid, you know I love you, Helga, I love you so much!" I wailed, like a moron, professing my love at the locked door. Neighbors across the street opened their windows to watch the scene I was making. I heard voices inside her house again.

Now shaking, sweating, nearing tears and not caring who saw, I backed up, stumbling down her stoop. I stood at the foot of it, looked up at the house, and screamed as loud as I could:

" HELGA!"

No response. I fell to my knees on the spot. The attending neighbors clapped respectfully at my performance. I started sobbing – how had this happened? How had everything been wrecked so quickly? Why wouldn't she see me?

" Helga, where are you, I love you," I moaned through my tears, the pain of my earlier injury coursing through me and taking what little sense that I had left after all that had happened since the sun had risen over Brooklyn that morning.

Suddenly, I heard the door opening. I gasped in surprise, and my tears halted as I gathered myself to my feet to meet her.

But it wasn't Helga who now watched me from the doorstep. It was her father, Big Bob. I felt myself shrink as he looked down at me, glaring at me with a disdain that made me want to run for my life.

" You," he said through a sneer.

" Please, Mr. Pataki," I said, wiping my eyes, feeling like an idiot. "I need to see your daughter."

" What'are you supposed to be, her husband or something?" he asked with a scoff. "Get lost, you punk scum."

My instincts told me to do whatever this very large man wanted, but I knew I couldn't leave that easily. I had to see her, no matter how much more physical pain I had to withstand in order to make it happen.

" I can't," I said, standing my ground. "I've got to see her, please."

Bob snarled at me.

" You've got some nerve, kid," he said, rolling up his sleeves. " And if you don't get the HELL out of here right now, I'm gonna have to walk down those steps," he said, nodding down at the stoop. "And you're not going to like it, trust me."

" Mr. Pataki, I didn't DO anything, I swear!" I cried, stepping up onto the stoop. He narrowed his eyes at me.

" You except me to believe that, you lousy – after what you did to my kid?!" Big Bob totally lost it, and grabbed for me with a look of fury on his face. But I was too fast for him – I ducked under his tree-trunk arms and made for the open front door. If I could just get up to Helga's room –

But before I could get inside, Bob grabbed me by the waist and started to yank me back.

" That's it!" he roared. "You're dead, you little shit!"

Before he could throw me across the road, I grabbed onto the frame of the door.

" Helga!" I screamed into the house as Bob pulled on my legs, trying to force me out and stretching me into a horizontal line. My back and neck demanded that I give in and just let the man kill me and put them out of their respective misery, but I wouldn't. My hands held fast to the door frame.

" Helga, please!" I yelled inside. My sweaty hands lost their grip on the door and I fell to the floor. Bob spun me onto my back and I winced, and when I opened my eyes his fist was coming down to meet my face. My leg involuntarily and quickly reacted to this, and kicked him in the stomach before he could make contact. I watched Big Bob's eyes cross in pain, and tried to roll away, but he caught me again by the waist.

" Dead!" he kept screaming, now in a mindless fury. "You're dead!"

I was seeing red at this point, my head was in so much pain. I could hear a woman screaming and suddenly realized Miriam, Helga's mother, had joined us on the stoop, and was trying to pull Bob off of me.

" Don't, Bee, don't!" she pleaded with him. "Think of your blood pressure! Your blood pressure!"

While she restrained him I managed to roll down the stoop and onto the sidewalk, out of Bob's grasp.

" Don't you ever, EVER show your face on this stoop again!" Bob was screaming, his face red, the veins in his neck popping. "Or I WILL kill you, you hear? I WILL KILL YOU!"

These were the last words he managed to get out before Miriam shoved him, with all of her might, into the house. When he was inside she leaned against the front door, panting, unmoving, as if her presence there was holding him inside. I could hear things breaking inside the house. Miriam looked down at me – I was slumped in a heap in front of the stoop, struggling to breathe, my right cheek darkening into a bruise.

" Are you," she asked, breathing erratically herself, "That Arnold boy?" She glared at me.

" Yes," I managed to say, weakly, from the sidewalk. I was certain that I was dying, and sure that I deserved it, especially under Miriam's accusing stare.

" Well, I hope you're happy," she sniped at me. "Our little girl's in the hospital because of everything you've done to her!"

I sat up, the pain suddenly snapping away.

" What?" I said, "Helga?"

" Yes, Helga," Miriam spat. "Or can you even keep track of the names of all the girls you're screwing around with?"

I opened my mouth to tell her that she was wrong about me, but before I could she opened the door and disappeared into the house herself.

" Wait!" I screamed, pulling myself up. The shock of the news unable to keep the pain at bay any longer, I felt dizzy when I stood. " What hospital?" I cried. "Which hospital!"

I got no answer, and I was afraid that if I stood there much longer, Bob would either shoot me on the spot or call the police. I wandered down the street, away from Helga's house, in a complete daze. The neighbors, still paying rapt attention, watched me go.

I didn't know where I was going, I just walked. Helga was in the hospital. That meant she had not only been emotionally ruined by everything I had done, something physical had happened to her to.

And if something had happened to Helga, then our baby . . .

I couldn't even finish this thought. My mind returned to the one idea that it could wrap itself around: I had to see her. Find her. I looked around the street, and saw a phone booth up ahead. I walked, zombie-like, until I reached it, and pulled open the door. I shut myself inside – the heat in the little box was unbearable. I listened to myself breathing, to my heart pounding in my ears. My vision was blurry from pain and confusion. Helga was in the hospital.

_Focus_, I demanded of myself, my hands fumbling for the phone book that was lodged under the receiver. I pulled it out and searched for the numbers of the area hospitals – I forgot my alphabet in the meantime, and when I tried each phone number, I would screw up the sequence of the numbers at least once in my stunned panic.

It only took two phone calls to find the hospital she'd been admitted to: it was one of the two that were closest to our neighborhood, which made sense.

Not that anything made sense, in that moment.

When I found out where she was I raced from the phone booth and ran to the corner, desperate for a taxi. None came, but I did see a familiar old Buick driving toward me. I ran out into the middle of the street, waving my arms, and Gerald slammed on the brakes.

" Arnold, have you lost it, man?" he screamed at me, sticking his head out the window.

" Gerald!" I shouted, running over to the passenger side door and letting myself in. "Drive me to Northside Hospital."

" What?" Gerald asked, still looking at me like I was insane. " What for? Did something . . .," he trailed off, and his face softened.

" Aw, shit, Arnold, your grandfather –"

" No, it's Helga," I spat quickly. "Go, Gerald, now!" I said, getting impatient.

" Helga?" he asked, making a face. "Helga Pataki?"

" GO! NOW!" I screamed, about to lose it.

" Okay, okay!" he said, frowning and turning the car around. As we sped off toward the hospital I started to hyperventilate. I didn't even want to think about the news that was waiting for me at the hospital. I shut my eyes and heard a buzzing sound – my head was still pounding from my fall, and my neck was killing me.

" Dude, are you okay?" Gerald asked. "It looks like someone messed you up pretty bad."

" Big Bob," I muttered, opening my eyes. I could hardly blame him for wanting to kill me. I had hurt Helga – I couldn't even imagine how much she was suffering, not knowing the truth. But what had landed her in the hospital? I sucked in my breath and prayed she hadn't tried to hurt herself.

" Helga's dad?" Gerald asked, speeding out onto the freeway. " Arnold – what's all this about? What happened?"

" Please," I said, swallowing a lump in my throat. "I don't want to talk about it right now."

" Fine," Gerald muttered, sounding a little offended. But, in the moment, I didn't care.

When we pulled up to the hospital I catapulted myself out of Gerald's car before he had even come to a complete stop.

" Whoa!" he shouted, watching me jog for the front doors. "Hold on! Do you want me to wait for you?"

" You don't have to," I called back, as the sliding glass doors opened and I ran inside.

I fell against the front desk, and the two nurses behind it stared at me as I leaned there, gasping for breath and about to pass out from the pain in my head and neck.

" Can I help you?" one of them asked dryly.

" My wife," I said, trying to catch my breath. "My wife was admitted here. I need to see her."

" Your wife's name?" the nurse asked, reaching for a chart.

" Helga Pataki," I said, guilty tears gathering in my eyes as the nurse stared at me. Her dark eyes seemed full of accusation to me. " She's blonde," I said, my voice breaking. "And pregnant," I added, in a tearful whisper.

" And your name?" she asked.

" Arnold," I choked out. "Her husband."

" Uh-huh," she said, handing me a clipboard and a pen. "You'll need to fill out those visitation papers."

" Please, I don't even know what happened to her!" I said, dropping the clipboard on the counter, my hands shaking too hard to grip the pen. "Just let me see her, I need to know if she's okay!"

The nurse opened her mouth to answer me, her expression stern, but then the other nurse, an older woman, stood up behind her.

" I'll take him up, Kelly," she said, giving me a pitying look. " He can fill out the paperwork once he gets up there."

" Fine," the other nurse said with a sigh, falling back into her seat. The older nurse came around the desk and offered me a sympathetic smile.

" She's in room 319," she said. "Right this way."

She led me to a bank of elevators, and we rode up to the third floor. On the way up I started shaking terribly, beads of cold sweat forming on my throbbing forehead.

" Are you alright?" the nurse asked me gently. "Were you in an accident?"

" Yes," I said, my voice unsteady. "It was an accident."

" Maybe we should admit you for a check up," she suggested, as the elevator doors slid open.

" I don't care," I said, barreling out into the hall. "I just need to see her."

I jogged down the white, florescent and linoleum hall, looking at the numbers on the doors. When I came to 319 I found the door open.

I looked inside: Helga was lying on her side in a small, twin bed, facing a window that spilled warm afternoon light onto the blanket that covered her legs and midsection. I let out a sigh of relief. She wasn't hooked up to any machines. She wasn't wearing a cast. She was going to be okay. Now all I had to do was somehow convince her that what she had seen had been a crazy aberration.

" Helga," I said, taking a step into the room. She turned slowly, and when she looked up at me the expression on her face made me take a step back. It wasn't hateful or grief stricken, angry or even disappointed. The look on her face was stone cold indifference. She looked vacant, as if she wasn't even seeing me, but looking through me.

" Helga?" I said again, unsure of how to proceed. She laid motionless on the pillow, and my heart rate spiked as I imagined she might have brain damage from whatever had happened.

" Leave," she said, the hate that was hidden on her face surfacing in her voice, which came out in a furious hiss.

" Helga, what happened?" I asked, already starting to cry. "Why are you here?"

" The doctor called it a stress induced episode," Helga explained, eerily calm. "Thanks," she added coldly.

" Ruth told my grandfather she was you," I babbled, trying to explain, trying to put it in a way that sounded believable. "She came upstairs and took her shirt off, she was crying –"

" Why don't you just _shut up_, Arnold," Helga snapped. "I don't even know why you bothered to come. You're off the hook now. Go cavort about with Ruth and whoever the hell else you've been banging behind my back."

" No!" I said, walking toward her.

" Get away from me!" she shrieked, her placid veneer crumbling. I backed up, and some of the red drained from her face. She glared at me.

" Why don't you just save it?" she said, shaking her head.

" I was fooling around with Ruth, but that was before – before –" I struggled to come up with a time when our relationship had turned serious. God, was it only yesterday? The same day we got married? Time and events slurred together in my mind, and flashes of brilliant red began to fan out across my vision – my head was being assaulted from within, the physical and emotional stress tearing at my skull.

" It was my mistake," Helga said, making her face still again. " You were a fantasy. I shouldn't have let you make me think it could be real." Her lip trembled for a few seconds, but she bit down on it, stopped it, and stared at me flatly again.

" Helga, I love you," I said, my knees shaking. "Please believe me. Ruth is nothing to me compared to you –"

" Why, because you knocked me up first?" Helga asked with a scoff. " What if it had been her? You wouldn't have given me a second thought."

" But this was meant to happen," I said, timid, whispering now. " You and me."

Helga laughed.

" Just get out of my life," she said, shaking her head. "I don't need this. I don't need you. And I never want to see you again. Understand?"

" No," I said, shaking my head. "You can't do that. You have to listen to me."

" Says who?" Helga screamed, suddenly furious again. "I don't have to do anything for you or anyone else. You're free now, and so am I." Her lip trembled again, and she looked away from me, out the window.

" Helga," I said, moving toward the bed, thinking that if I could just get my arms around her I could make her understand that I loved her.

" Don't you understand what I'm saying, you idiot?" she sneered, turning to me and stopping me in my tracks. Tears slid down her face, which was pale and haggard. "It's over."

" But –"I began.

" But the baby," she said, shaking her head. "No, Arnold."

A chill moved down from my shoulders to my feet, and the pain from my injuries was wiped away. My skin froze. No.

She couldn't mean that.

" I lost it," she told me, point blank, biting away a sob. I saw her swallow it, saw her force the pain away. "The doctor said it was the stress of the trauma," she said, looking away from me.

I had no words. I simply stood there, in the middle of the hospital room, halfway between Helga and the door.

" So that's it," she said, smoothing the blanket over her legs, her hands shaking as she did. "You don't have to worry about me anymore. We're both . . . emancipated."

She was a poet, even then. Emancipated. The terrible irony of the perfect word. Neither of us felt anything like freedom. I knew her well enough not to buy her performance, not that anyone would. I was feeling robbed, cheated, and ruined, and so was she.

" That can't be right," I said quietly. Stupidly, I felt like I would know if my baby had been taken from the world, lost. I didn't feel that – in my heart, slow to catch up with my mind, I still felt the bundle of our hybrid love waiting at the center of Helga, this broken girl laid out before me.

" Look, there's something I should have told you," she said, letting out her breath and swallowing her tears at last. "It wasn't necessarily your kid. I slept with some other guys that month."

I knew instantly that it was a lie, but the sentiment was so cruel that it still sliced through me, or what was left of me.

" Who?" I asked, narrowing my eyes, which were clogged with tears.

" Curly, for one," she said, looking down at her hands as if she might begin ticking them off on her fingers. "And a guy from my poetry class. I just wanted it to be yours, because I thought you were – well. I thought you were a good person. One of the best ones, actually."

She looked up at me, icy indifference pooling around her blue eyes again.

" That's what hurt most of all, it's so strange," she said, her voice quiet, bruised. "Not the baby, not the betrayal – just the disappointment."

She laughed darkly and looked down at her hands again.

" You'll never know how much faith I had invested in you," she said, her voice sinking deeper into whispers. "Not that you would love me, just faith in you. That you were . . . a decent . . . kind . . .," she trailed off and looked up at me. "That you would not do something like this," she said, barely audible.

I didn't know what to do. My head started to fill with white hot pain again, as the shock from what she had just said receded.

" That was my fantasy about you," Helga was saying, her voice growing quieter, more distant. "That I could come to your window, crawl inside, that you would want me when I arrived." She stopped, and I saw her fists clench at her sides.

" I just wanted to believe that there was someone, somewhere who wouldn't let me down," she said, staring at her lap.

" The baby is . . .?" I trailed off, still stuck on her earlier words.

" Dead," she said flatly, looking up at me. I couldn't face her sterility, her delicate shoulders slumped in defeat. Her disappointment in me, which had taken the color from her face, taken our baby, taken her soul and left her body bereft.

I turned toward the door. I wasn't sure where I was going. I couldn't see straight from the pain in my head, and I stumbled and caught the frame of the door.

" Arnold?" I heard Helga say behind me, her voice tiny again as she watched me crumble to the floor.

That was the last thought that stabbed at my mind before I passed out on the linoleum floor: that Helga still cared a little bit, enough to call out to me as I collapsed.

It gave me a little bit of hope as I lost consciousness for the second time that day, letting the pain from my injuries take me.

* * *

When I opened my eyes I was still in the hospital, but I was lying in my own bed, in a room that was dark except for the glow of the TV. My eyes drifted from one side of the room to the other: I saw the window, the blinds cracked, the sky outside black. I saw my grandfather, sitting in the corner with a cup of coffee, watching the evening news.

They had given me morphine, and I felt strange. Like I was floating over the floor rather then lying in a bed. I lifted my hand, looked at it. I felt drunk, groggy, and immeasurably calm. My neck and head didn't hurt anymore. I looked over at my grandfather, who still hadn't realized I was awake.

" Grandpa," I muttered, my words a little slurred. My jaw was harder to move than usual, and my tongue felt heavy. Grandpa stood up and walked to my bed.

" Hey, there, short man," he said. His voice sounded weary – he suddenly seemed so old. Later I would feel terrible about everything I put him through that summer, but in the moment I was only comforted by the pressure of his hand on my forehead.

" I shouldn't have let you run off like that," he said, sighing. " I should have listened to the doctors – I didn't realize how bad you were banged up. You had a concussion."

" Oh?" I said, fairly oblivious to the seriousness of the situation at the moment.

" They're going to give you a CAT-scan tomorrow morning," he told me. "After you passed out they gave you something for the pain and that knocked you out for awhile."

" It's nighttime already," I said, dreamily, looking toward the window.

" Yep," Grandpa said, dragging the chair over to the bed and sitting down beside me. "You were out for a while. You had me a little scared, Arnold." He forced a laugh.

" I'm sorry," I said, sincerely.

We were quiet for a moment. I was enjoying the feeling of being so doped up that I couldn't really recall why I had been so upset earlier. The whole terrible conversation with Helga seemed like a fever dream.

That night spent coasting on morphine was the beginning of a bad thing. After I left the hospital I began self medicating: booze didn't dull the pain quite as well, but I took what I could get.

" Helga," I muttered just before I drifted back into dreamless sleep.

" What's that, Arnold?" Grandpa asked, turning the news down.

" Where's Helga?" I asked him.

" I – I don't know," he said. "I was told that they found her in your room. You want me to go check on her for you?"

" No," I said, after considering for a moment. I didn't want to be left alone. At the moment I didn't think about the fact that Helga was probably alone, and far more conscious than I was.

* * *

I have very blurry memories of the following week. I had my CAT-scan, and it was determined that my brain was not bleeding. I didn't try to see Helga that first day after I was admitted into the hospital: I figured there was no point. She was too angry, and I was pretty hurt myself by what she'd said about the baby not being mine. I stayed in a funk, letting doctors poke and prod at me until I was released in the evening.

When we got back to the boarding house the painkiller buzz started to fade rapidly, and I was sore and devastated. My kid was dead and it was my fault – sure, it was a misunderstanding that had caused the stress that ended Helga's pregnancy, but it was born out of my own selfish fumbling. I shouldn't have given Ruth the time of day after I found out Helga was pregnant. I should have seen her for what she was sooner.

I ran over all of the things I should have done differently constantly, every day. I didn't leave the boarding house for a week, didn't try to contact Helga. I had no idea what the hell I would say to her, how I would ever be able to face her again. I stayed in my bed, sobbing and pathetic. I only ate when Grandpa threatened to take me back to the hospital. Gerald tried to visit me, but I told Grandpa I didn't want to see anyone.

After a week of mourning, I pulled myself out of bed, showered and got dressed. The headaches that I had been getting had subsided, and my bruises from the fall had faded to a light greenish color. Emotionally I was still a wreck, but I had decided that the only way I could heal would be with Helga. I told myself that we needed each other. No one else could understand what we were going through.

Before the healing began, I knew I would have to convince her that she was wrong about me and Ruth. I would always blame myself for what had happened, but I still didn't want Helga thinking that I had willingly betrayed her after we had gotten married.

When I padded down the stairs that first morning, Grandpa looked up from his omelet with surprise.

" Hey, short man!" he said, smiling. "Good to see you up and about."

" Yeah," I mumbled, "I think I'm going to – go over there."

Grandpa nodded somberly.

" I think that'd be the right thing to do," he confirmed. I smiled sourly to myself.

" The right thing to do," I echoed in a sigh. There was a time in my life when I cared about nothing more – I got a reputation at school for being obsessed with justice and random acts of good samaritanism. It was just that I had been so wounded as a kid, so broken up whenever I saw someone getting mistreated. My heart couldn't handle it. How had I become so good at doling out mistreatment myself?

I walked to Helga's brownstone with my hands in my pockets. It was the first of August, and the heat on the city streets was sweltering. Kids ran around me, chasing after the ice cream truck as it made it's noon-time rounds around the neighborhood. More rode past me on bikes, shouting to each other and laughing. I watched them, envious. I wanted to be a kid again. I wanted to start over. If I could have gone back in time I still would have been walking to Helga's house – my eight year old self would walk up and knock on her door, tell the angry girl that I knew how she felt, and it was okay. What would we do? Would she still fight me? Would she still deny everything? Or would we go inside, sit on her couch, and watch TV, holding hands?

That was all I wanted from her that day. I just wanted to sit beside her in silence. I would expect her to still be angry with me, of course. I would expect her to still feel betrayed. But I wanted a moment of silence before I began explaining again. Before I tried to win her back I just wanted to sit beside her, to feel the loss of our baby, suffer together, and put everything else aside.

It took me a few minutes to get up the courage to knock on her brownstone's door. When I did I stepped back, afraid that Big Bob might answer and try to pummel me again. But instead, a slim, blonde beauty answered the door. I perked up for a minute, and then I realized it wasn't Helga, but her sister, Olga, and that she was giving me her best stern expression.

" Yes?" Olga said, very curtly. I couldn't imagine Ms. Perfect being rude to anyone, but clearly she was willing to make an exception for her sister's low life teenage husband.

" Is Helga here?" I asked, my cheeks reddening under the scrutiny of her stare.

" Helga's gone," Olga said, with an annoyed little scoff.

" What?" I asked, the last of my crumpled heart balling up tight, the pressure seizing my chest.

" She left," Olga answered plainly. "Two days ago. She and my parents had an argument and she went to live with my aunt in Seattle."

" But," I stuttered, dumbfounded. She couldn't just be gone. It was impossible – this neighborhood couldn't exist without Helga. I couldn't exist without my wife.

" That's – that can't be right," I said, fumbling stupidly over the words. "People don't just pick up and move away in one week . . . with no warning . . .," I trailed off, knowing it was fruitless. I could feel it in the hollow hallway behind Olga: Helga was gone.

" She was very upset," Olga said tightly. "You're Arnold, I presume?" she added. I nodded solemnly, wishing that I could be anyone else.

" You really broke my baby sister's heart," Olga said, her lip trembling at the thought of it. "How could you do that to her?"

" You don't understand," I said, shaking my head. "She – I – it was a misunderstanding."

" Hmph," Olga said, shaking her head. "Well, if you know anything about my sister, you know that she doesn't forgive and forget very easily, if at all."

" I know," I mumbled, my chin falling to my chest. "But I can't just give up – I love her. This is all a mistake. It's already cost us so much – I have to see her again, to explain."

" I don't think she'll listen to you," Olga said, shaking her head. "And if I were you I'd get out of here. My dad will be coming home for lunch, and if he sees you –"

" Just tell me where she is," I said, shaking my head. "I've got to go there. I've got to see her – it can't just end like this."

" She told me she never wanted to see you again," Olga said, shaking her head. "I've already spent years trying to regain my sister's love – I'm not about to go against her wishes now."

" Then at least her phone number," I begged, trying to make my face look as desperate and pitiable as I felt. "Please."

" She won't speak to you," Olga said, frowning.

" Olga, I'm not a bad person," I said, putting my hands together, a pleading posture, a last resort prayer. "Helga knows that. She'll see it if I just get a chance to tell her what really happened."

Olga looked at me for a long time, studying my face as if she was looking for a clue, trying to decide if I was worthy or not. Finally she sighed and turned around, disappearing into the house. I waited in front of the open door, praying that Bob wouldn't come up behind me and put a few more holes in my head for daring to show my face here again.

When Olga returned she had a folded up piece of paper in her hand. She gave it to me, looking at me, still stern, but a little sympathetic.

" She wanted so much to believe that you really loved her," she said softly. "I guess I want to believe it, too."

With that, she shut the door in my face.

* * *

I called Helga's aunt's house five times before I could actually get my wife on the phone. Her aunt cursed at me, told me to leave her alone, told me that Helga never wanted to hear from me again. But I didn't believe her. When I finally got through to Helga I tried to explain, but she wouldn't hear it. She would go to the grave believing that I had maliciously manipulated her into believing I loved her, all the while screwing Ruth and laughing about it behind her back.

Often the phone calls – the ten or so we had in that first year we were apart – ended in her slamming down the receiver. At first she did all the shouting, but eventually I shouted back, furious that she wouldn't listen to reason. Why couldn't she understand that I loved her? Hadn't she been able to see it on my face, that day we were married, and even in the days before? Didn't she know me – hadn't she known me since the beginning of time?

We never talked about the baby she had lost. It was too hard, virtually impossible, and seemed almost irrelevant. As weeks turned into months I began to realize that trying to patch things up with Helga was fruitless. I remember our last phone call well. I had turned nineteen by then, and so had she.

" Arnold, please stop," she begged. "I'm tired," she said, and I could hear it in her voice: emotional exhaustion. "I'm so tired," she'd said, nearly breaking into sobs.

" What do you want?" I had asked, my own voice wavering. I was lying on my back in bed, staring up at my skylight – there was a light rain in New York; it was evening. I remember it well, that last moment, those last words.

" I want to forget you," she pleaded. "I want to go on with my life."

" But I love you," I had said, gnawing on my bottom lip to keep myself from crying, or screaming in frustration. "It doesn't make any sense to give up."

" Give up on what, Arnold?" she asked, with a heaving sigh. "We had a few nice days."

" You know it was more than that," I insisted.

" Arnold stop, please stop," she had cried. "Please. If you love me, please just let me go."

" Then you do believe I love you!" I had exclaimed: one last try.

" Arnold," she had said, beginning to weep. "Don't do this to me. Stop telling me you love me. I can't handle it. Stop calling here. It only hurts me to talk to you. Just _stop_."

So I did. We exchanged somber, shell-shocked goodbyes, and hung up our respective phones. I laid in bed a long time, not crying, just staring blankly up at the rain. I can't deny that I felt a little bit of relief. I was heartbroken, but I was free. I had my whole life ahead of me.

* * *

But it had been a cool, empty life without her. Not unhappy, necessarily, not dull or even lonely. But colder. Colder than the promises we made that day we were married.

I stood with my back pressed against the brick wall in the alley where we'd taken cover from the storm, Helga's face buried against my neck. I let the memories wash over me as I watched the storm subside: our entire sordid past, which could be measured as one summer or as an entire childhood and adolescence: two young lifetimes leading up to one thing, one thing that didn't happen.

" Are you okay?" I asked, looking down at her. She lifted her face to mine and smiled: her blue eyes were red-rimmed, but she looked genuinely happy to see me, which was something I never would have predicted. I had been told that time heals all wounds, but I had never believed it. But here we were: how bitterly we had parted, how much pain we had caused each other, but now, now it seemed we were ready. If not to forgive, to at least be civil.

Or at least to hold each other against the storm.

I wanted very acutely to kiss her, but I didn't. She was wiping at her eyes, looking up at me like I was some kind of angel all of a sudden. I was afraid she'd morph back into her vengeful self at any moment.

" I'm alright," she said, laughing a little and sniffling.

" Want to get out of the rain?" I asked.

" Arnold," she said, giving me a mischievous look. "Was that some kind of come on?"

" Yeah, right," I said, rolling my eyes. Seducing her was not exactly the first thing on my mind, despite our embrace. We had more than a few things to discuss.

Helga raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

" What happened to your date?" she asked, stepping back and straightening her dress.

" What happened to yours?" I countered, feeling the familiar animosity rising back to the surface as the clouds above us cleared. People from the wedding party were laughing now, including Eugene, who was dancing through the puddles with his new husband.

" I told you, Curly's not my date, just my friend," she said, turning to walk out of the alley. But before she could, I grabbed her arm and pulled her back in. She looked at me with surprise.

" Wait a minute," I said, not willing to leave this place yet, this place where we had found a strange peace in the middle of a storm.

" I missed you," I said, only realizing how true it was as I said it. I touched her face, she leaned into my hand.

" Yeah," she said, grinning a little to herself. "I thought about you – from time to time."

" So you didn't _completely_ forget about me," I said sarcastically.

" Not completely," she said quietly, looking down at her feet.

We walked out of the alley and into the light that was breaking through the clouds. Wedding guests were starting to disperse, leaving for their homes or hotels to dry off and recuperate. I saw Eugene hugging Nadine goodbye.

" Hey," Curly said, walking over to us with a grin. "Freak thunderstorm. Who would have thought?" He winked.

" Yeah," I said, running a hand through my wet hair. "I should have known to take out a new insurance policy when I got the invite for the wedding."

" Curly gave him a huge box full of assorted Band-Aids for a wedding gift," Helga said, smirking at him.

" Awesome," I said, and we all laughed. I put my arm around Helga and looked at Curly.

" Hey, you don't mind if I steal your girl, do you?" I asked.

" I'm not his girl," Helga said, rolling her eyes, but she stayed pressed to my side.

" We have a lot to talk about," I explained.

" Yeah, you do," Curly said with a nod, raising an eyebrow at Helga and signaling that they had probably discussed the probability of her seeing me at the wedding.

" Have you seen Julia?" I asked, looking around for my date, who had all but faded from my thoughts.

" No, I haven't," Curly said, scanning the thinning crowd. " Maybe she took off when the rain started."

" If you do see her, let her know I've gone back to the hotel," I said, and Curly nodded.

" Look, we should get together later," he said, putting one hand on my shoulder and one on Helga's. "For old time's sake."

" Sounds good," Helga said. "We'll call you."

Curly beamed at us.

" Look at you two crazy kids," he said, giving us a little wave. " Together again." Helga and I watched him walk off, stomping through puddles as he went.

" So I guess you told him all about us," I said, walking with Helga toward the street.

" Yeah, he knows everything," she said.

" You guys are pretty close, huh?" I asked, feeling more than a little jealous.

" For the past couple of years, yeah," Helga said. "He wrote to me after I first got published, and we became friends again."

" So you actually read your fan mail?" I asked, reaching up into the air to hail an approaching taxi.

" Why, did you write one?" Helga asked darkly, knowing the answer.

" No," I said, opening the taxi's door for her. "But I did read them. All three chapbooks."

" Yeah right," Helga said with a laugh, climbing into the taxi.

" You don't believe me?" I said, climbing in after her. I gave the taxi driver the address of the hotel Julia and I were staying at, and watched Helga, who looked out the window on her side of the backseat, her hands folded in her lap, her expression serene and amused.

" You look great," I said. "Did I tell you that?" And she did. She looked certain of herself, fuller, happier. As happy as morose little Helga Pataki could look, anyway.

" Quote one," Helga said, turning to me with a wicked look.

" Huh?"

" Quote one of my poems, if you're such an aficionado," she said, raising a eyebrow.

I searched my mental repertoire for the appropriate one. What she wasn't suspecting was that I had memorized several of them. Why? They were about me, for godssake. Of course she never used my name, but she didn't have to. The bulk of her published work dealt with me: me as the golden angel boy, me as the wicked, beautiful teenager, me as a lover, me as a wrathful god – who was it? Ah yes, Shiva, the Hindu god who regularly wiped away the world. That was one of the more colorful metaphors.

I opened my mouth to quote one of the diatribes, one of the angry laments, but then something else came to mind.

" The comfort stained posture of your sleep, hands cradled against skin, back turned in exhaustion's retreat –"

" Arnold, don't," Helga said quietly, looking away from me, out the window.

" My most lucid and mysterious dream, laid out before me," I whisper, finishing the line. It's from the one poem she wrote about our child, the baby we made, the baby I erased with my carelessness. In the poem she wrote as if that child existed, as if his life had been allowed to play out. I recognized it at once. Any other reader would have assumed she was writing about her living son. But I knew.

" Just, please," she said, putting her hands over her face and shaking her head. "You don't understand."

" Don't I?" I asked in a whisper.

She shook her head, face still covered by her hands, and I reached over and drew her against me. She put her head against my shoulder.

" I don't want to talk about that," she whispered into the cloth of my shirt. "Not yet."

" Okay," I said, feeling guilty, kissing the top of her head. " Okay."

We climbed out of the taxi after I paid the driver, and Helga followed me into the hotel.

" You're doing alright for yourself," she said, glancing around the impressive lobby as we headed toward the elevators.

" And you're not?" I asked with a scoff.

" Poetry isn't exactly big business," Helga said, following me into an elevator. "And to answer your question about fan mail – yes, I do read all of it. It's not as overwhelming a task as you might imagine."

" But you've had critical success," I reminded her, disheartened somewhat by this. "I read your reviews."

" I've done alright," she said with a shrug. "Funny, that you read my reviews. Even more so that you work for a publisher."

" We don't publish poetry," I told her as the elevator doors slid open to the fourteenth floor. "Mostly textbooks – science and math."

" How boring," she said lightly as we made our way down the hall.

" It's a living," I muttered, a little offended. But it was what I had ended up doing, almost by chance. I had wanted to get a degree in anthropology or medicine, follow in my parents' footsteps. But maybe I was too afraid of where their footsteps had led them. Maybe I resented them – of course I resented them.

" Where did you go to school?" Helga asked when we reached my room, and I slid the keycard into it's slot.

" Cornell," I told her. She rolled her eyes. "Where did you go?" I asked, peeved by her reaction.

" Didn't," she said plainly, looking ahead, beyond the door I was opening. I was about to ask her why she hadn't gone to college when I followed her gaze and found Julia standing in the middle of the hotel room, glaring at us.

" Just what the hell is this?" she asked, crossing her arms in fury.

" Julia," I said, blanching. "This is . . . my wife."

Julia raised her eyebrows, and then slowly shook her head.

" Just perfect," she said with a taut smile. "I should have known, Arnold, I just should have known. The girls at the office told me about you, but did I believe them? Hell no –"  
"What'd they tell you?" Helga asked, walking into the room.

" Don't answer that," I begged.

" Your husband isn't exactly faithful to you," Julia shouted, throwing out her arms. "I mean – HELLO!"

" It's not that kind of marriage," Helga said plainly, sitting down on one of the double beds in the room with a sigh. Julia scoffed and grabbed her suitcase, began throwing things into it.

" I'm getting a plane out of here," she said, shaking her head as she packed. "And you better damn well reimburse me for the flight," she added, turning to shoot daggers at me with her eyes.

" I will," I said, feeling horrible. "I'm really sorry, Julia. I didn't expect this to happen."

" Great excuse," Julia spat, pushing past me on the way out of the room. She slammed the door behind her, and I looked back to Helga.

" So why didn't you go to college?" I tried, hoping we wouldn't have to discuss that.

" You've got a bit of a reputation at the workplace, have you?" she asked, not letting me get away with it.

" All they say about me is that I don't commit to anyone," I told her.

" What are you holding out for?" she asked me cattily, leaning back onto the bed.

" Don't ask," I grumbled.

" So, Cornell, huh?" she said with a sigh. "What'd you get your degree in?"

" English," I told her, my cheeks going a little red. "Focus in composition."

She tipped her head back and laughed.

" Not your kind of composition," I snapped quickly. "Rhetoric. Academic stuff."

" So that's what led you to the publishing business?" she asked.

" Yep."

We stared at each other for a moment. Helga laid back onto the pillows of the bed, letting out her breath. Cautiously, I laid down beside her, rolling over onto my side to face her. She stared up at the ceiling, lying on her back.

" We should really get out of these wet clothes," she said, not looking at me. We waited a few seconds before bursting into laughter.

" There are some robes in the bathroom," I suggested cautiously.

" Too weird," she said, yawning a little.

" Agreed."

I stood up and fished through my suitcase, coming out with a clean, white Oxford shirt, a t-shirt, a pair of boxers and a pair of jeans. I tossed the Oxford shirt to Helga, and she caught it.

" You can get dressed in the bathroom," I said, nodding toward it.

" Oh, can I?" she asked, mocking me, but she got up and went into the bathroom, shutting the door.

When we were both dressed in dry clothes we resumed our spots, but on the second double bed, as the first was now damp. I stared at Helga, she stared at her ceiling, her hands. I tried not to glance down at her long, white legs, protruding desirably from the bottom of my white shirt.

" My life with you has been so ludicrous," she mused.

" Thanks," I muttered.

" To think that I would end up in a hotel room with you, wearing your shirt." She shut her eyes and laughed a little to herself. "I thought I would hate you viciously, as soon as I saw you again."  
" I never believed that you hated me viciously," I told her, which was partly a lie. I had suspected it in a few dark moments. But I had never _believed_ it, not completely.

" I wanted to hate you," Helga said quietly.

" Why didn't you go to college?" I asked, wanting to change the subject.

" I just didn't," she said, getting a little testy for some reason. "I couldn't afford it, for one thing. My parents cut me off when I left home."

" Why'd you leave home?" I asked her, afraid I knew the answer.

" To get away from you," she said plainly.

" But your sister told me you had a fight with your parents," I said, frowning. She put her hands over her face.

" I can't do this," she moaned. "I can't talk about the past with you Arnold, not now, not yet. I'm still trying to get over the shock of seeing you again."

" Okay," I relented. "We'll talk about – about --,"

" The weather," Helga said, giggling to herself.

" How's your aunt?" I asked, wanting to know what it had been like, her running away, her hiding from me all those years up in Washington.

" She's fine," Helga said, playing with the cuffs on my shirt. " It was the best thing for me, moving up there with her. We have a lot in common – she's my mother's sister and she was always kind of neglected as a kid. Mom was this big swimming champion, and Kate – my aunt – was just, well. There."

" You weren't just there," I told her. "You were incredible – you won awards for writing even when we were kids."

" You didn't think I was incredible," Helga said, rolling her eyes.

" Yeah I did," I insisted. "I admired you."

Helga cracked up.

" What's so funny?" I asked, sitting up on my elbow. She grinned up at me.

" Admired me?" she said, chuckling. "What on earth for?"

" You were brave," I said, "You were honest. You told people how you really felt."

" No I didn't," she said, staring up at me. "I was in love with you for years. I never told you."

" You told me," I said quietly. "Once."

" That day after we got married," she mused.

" It was the best day of my life," I told her, honestly. "The day before Ruth showed up and ruined everything –"

" Shh," Helga said in a rush, shutting her eyes. "I don't want to talk about Ruth."

" You still don't believe me," I said sadly.

" It doesn't matter anymore," she said, shaking her head.

We were quiet for a moment after that. I looked at Helga's stomach, watched it rise and fall with her breath.

" So you never married?" I asked her, though somehow it was already obvious, and not just because her finger still lacked a ring.

" Nope," she said. "Not even close. I had a few boyfriends. Poets." She scoffed, and I smiled, satisfied with her disappointment in other men.

" My longest relationship since you has been six months," I told her. "And that was painful. Tina, that was her name. She was Asian, a real smart and sweet girl. But after six months just the sound of her _voice_ was driving me nuts. I broke it off."

" I'm sure you've broken a lot of hearts," Helga said with a sigh.

" I wouldn't be surprised if you'd done the same," I returned, a little coldly. "You did a number on mine, anyway."

" Yeah, right," she muttered.

" Fine," I said, sitting up, frustrated. "Fine, go on thinking I never gave a damn, if that's what makes you happy. I'm not even going to try to convince you anymore that I did."

" Good," she said curtly. "I'm sick of hearing it. Actions speak louder than words, Arnold," she added, accusing.

" Oh?" I said, a wicked idea popping into my head. Before I could crush it I took her advice, shutting my mouth and letting actions take over. I leaned down and kissed her on the lips.

Helga grabbed my shoulders, surprised, and her lips parted a bit, swallowing my kiss in her gasp. I pulled back and looked down at her.

" You really want to kiss me after all this time?" she asked, and for once there was no derision and doubt, just sincere surprise and curiosity.

" I thought we agreed not to talk," I said.

" Arnold I'm not going to sleep with you," she said sternly.

" All I'm asking for is a kiss," I told her, though, to be honest, I wanted more. I was surprised with myself – I had not expected to find my teenage desires creeping up through my body when I reunited with her.

" What's the point?" she whispered, her voice trembling a little.

" We've got nothing to lose," I reminded her.

She reached up and put a hand on either side of my face, drawing me back down to her. I shut my eyes and leaned over her, bringing my lips down to hers. I exhaled into her mouth as we kissed, relieved, sated, my body relaxing around hers.

" Arnold," she whispered when I drew back to kiss her cheeks. " This wasn't part of my plan," she said, looking up at me.

" You had a plan?" I asked, my voice husky, my lips impatient to reconnect with hers.

" Kind of," she whispered, giving in to the same thing I was feeling, lifting her head to kiss me again. I slid over on top of her, my Oxford shirt wrinkling as I crushed it beneath the weight of my body.

" We should call Curly," she said, breathlessly, pulling back when I leaned my face down to hers.

" Why?" I asked, kissing her eyelids. I felt her smile, her lips moving against my cheek.

" This is counterproductive," she mumbled, and I noticed the nervousness in her voice. How could we be nervous with each other anymore, after everything we'd been through? But I was feeling it, too – I felt like I was a teenager again, wondering when I could make the next move, wondering if I would even have the nerve.

" Are you saying . . . there's still no chance?" I asked, backing off a little. I was afraid to ask, but I needed to know – I could feel that boyish love rising through me again, something that hadn't happened to me since that day in the pool with Helga, the day I asked her to marry me. I couldn't invest too much in her again only to watch her run away.

" I don't think so," she said, her face falling. "But it's not your fault," she added quickly.

I didn't know how to respond to that, so I sat up, sliding away from her. I went to the window and stretched, watching the sun sink down behind the Los Angeles sky scrapers. It was the first time I had been to the City of Angels.

" We should go sightseeing tomorrow," I mumbled absently as Helga dialed Curly's phone number.

" Hmm," was all she said.

I turned my eyes back to the window as she made our dinner plans with Curly. I felt a little dejected, and a lot tired. I wanted to crawl back in bed with her: maybe not even for salacious purposes, just to sleep. I had slept with her only twice: that night in the bathtub at Rhonda's house, and on our wedding night. I didn't remember the bathtub, but I could picture the two of us there: eighteen again, half-dressed in rumpled prom clothes, drunkenly wrapped around each other. I thought about how stupid I was that summer, how uncharacteristically indulgent, and how I wouldn't trade those months, that mistake, our disgraceful and wonderful courtship, for anything.

* * *

We met Curly at a restaurant downtown, a chic Asian called Roppongi that he recommended. Apparently it was owned by some celebrities – Curly seemed to want to impress Helga and I, and he insisted on paying for our dinners.

" Try the duck quesadillas," he said, taking a sip of the Chinese beer he had ordered.

" You know," I said, opening my menu. "L.A. suits you."

" I love it," Curly said, beaming. He had come here with acting aspirations, and had actually gotten a part on a soap opera shortly after he left college. But his acting career had gone down the tubes as fast as Rhonda Lloyd's had, after her brief stint as an MTV veejay, which she skipped college for. Now he drove a flower delivery van.

" Funny that both you and Rhonda got into acting," I said, thinking of it. "Two kids from Brooklyn."

" They were always dramatic," Helga offered, sipping her glass of Amaretto.

" That's so disgusting that you drink that straight," Curly said, making a face at her.

" I like sweet things," Helga said with a shrug, taking another sip and raising her eyebrows at him.

" That must be why you ended up with Arnold," Curly said with a mischievous grin.

" We hardly ended up together," Helga said quickly, making a face and taking another drink. I took a gulp of my own beer, my cheeks heating.

" In a cosmic sense," Curly clarified innocently.

" You ever see Rhonda anymore?" I asked him hurriedly, wanting to change the subject.

" Um, yeah," Curly said, glancing slyly at Helga. "From time to time."

" They had an affair," Helga told me smartly. "Or two, or three, depending on how you define affair." She gave Curly a wicked look. "As in _cosmic_ or physical."

" Well met," Curly muttered with a smirk.

" You and Rhonda?" I asked with surprise. "I always thought she was too snotty to –"

" Date someone without a pedigree?" Curly finished for me. "Yeah. That was mostly her parents – she got over it as she got older. Her parents, however, did not. They openly loathed me."

" Just because your family didn't have money?" I asked.

" Well, I was also kind of a lunatic," Curly amended with a shrug.

" Was!" Helga said, snorting with a laughter. Curly glared at her in mock annoyance, grinning.

" Rhonda's a lunatic, too," he said, drinking. "She's just better at hiding it than me."

" No," I said, shaking my head. "I always thought she was nuts, even when we were kids."

" They fooled around in high school, even," Helga said, smirking at Curly. "No one knew – even I didn't find out until prom night."

" Yeah," Curly muttered. "The night Rhonda broke it off with me – for the first time. Helga was my –"  
"Pity date," Helga finished with a grin.

" Concerned friend," Curly amended, drinking. "Until she disappeared on me at the end of the night."

I downed the rest of my beer at the mention of that night – the night everything between Helga and I began, or at least came to fruition.

" It worked out for you, though," Helga reminded him. "She took you back by the end of the night, if I remember correctly."

" Yeah," Curly muttered, "And then broke up with me again a week later, only to come sniveling back after two months." He shook his head, and signaled the waiter, dropping his empty glass of beer onto the white table cloth.

" I'm done with Rhonda," he mumbled. "Done."

" Sure," Helga said, out of the corner of her mouth.

" No one's ever done with their first love," I mused, a little drunkenly, as Curly ordered a bottle of wine for the table. I glanced at Helga, but she seemed to be avoiding my gaze.

We had a delicious dinner – fish with banana sauce, duck quesadillas and pineapple fried rice, among other strange and scrumptious concoctions. We all ate off each other's plates, downed an entire bottle of wine, and finished off the meal with thick, purple plum liquor. We talked about the old neighborhood, talked about elementary school and high school, and what our lives had been like since. I would recall virtually none of our conversation the next day, thanks to the alcohol, but it was a sort of magical evening spent lost in our memories, laughing about things that had once been tragic, recovering, if only for a moment, from our pasts.

I threw my arm around Helga's chair midway through the meal, thoughtlessly and confidently, and by the time we were brushing off our dessert drinks she had scooted her chair over toward mine and was leaning against me, laughing at something Curly had said. I kissed the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair, and shut my eyes.

Let me stay, I thought, and for once I wasn't only begging the alcohol's buzz to linger. I wanted to stay in this place where Helga and I had forgiven each other – I was willing to move to Los Angeles for it, to give up everything in order to stay here, where the past and present had reconciled, bizarrely and without disaster.

* * *

That night recalled the whirlwind inebriation of the first time Helga and I had made love only this time we were laughing instead of crying and moping. I have little memory of leaving the restaurant, but I'm pretty sure I thanked Curly, hugged him, and fawned over him, promising to keep in touch, promising that we would not drift apart again. And I remember Helga clinging to my side, giggling against my shoulder, carefree and comfortable like a normal wife, a wife I had spent a life with instead of a life avoiding. Curly put us into a cab and we were on each other as soon as we slid onto the dirty seat, barely coming up for air to let the poor driver know where we needed to be dropped off.

We had a hard time making it through the hotel lobby without cracking up, and once we made it into the elevator we lost it completely, doubling over in laughter. I have no idea what was so funny – whatever it was it was lost in the _je ne sais quoi _of the drunken evening. But it _was _funny, in retrospect, that Helga and I had so easily fallen back together, as if none of the horror of her last week in Hillwood had happened, as if ten years had not passed.

When we made it up to the hotel room we stripped out of clothes and fell, awkward and still laughing, onto one of the double beds. We made giggly, sloppy love, inhibited by none of the reservations we would have harbored had we been sober. And when we were through we collapsed effortlessly around each other, Helga letting me draw in her close, her hands tracing lazily up and down my back.

" Arnold," she said in an exhausted sigh, breathing onto my collarbone, her head and shoulders tucked in close. "You're much better at this now," she told me absently, her eyes already drooping.

" Was I so bad back then?" I asked, pulling the covers up over us with my free hand.

" Yes," she answered honestly, smiling against my skin. "But I loved you anyway," she added, giving me a squeeze.

" Stay with me," I begged, hoping she would remember this in the morning – how we felt, how we couldn't possibly part again.

" Here?" she muttered absently, beginning to drift off.

" Anywhere," I said, pressing my face to the top of her head. "I'd go anywhere."

" Okay," she said, her voice small and sleepy, using the last of her waking strength to lightly kiss my chest. "Okay, Arnold."

* * *

I woke up early, my head hurting and my stomach feeling less than great as well. At first I had no idea where I was, and then it rushed back to me in a surge that made my head pound more painfully – Eugene's wedding, the dinner with Curly – Helga.

I rolled over to find her sleeping soundly, her hands tucked under her chin and her blonde hair falling over her face. I reached over to brush it back behind her ear, and she flinched a little, but stayed asleep. I laid on my side for a few minutes, staring at her. A rush of endorphins flowed through my veins, and the headache subsided a little.

I climbed out of bed, put on a robe and called room service, asking if they could bring aspirin. They told me they would be up soon, and I hung up and crawled back into bed, wrapping around Helga from behind. She yawned, and her arm stretched across the bed, grasping around over the side where I had slept.

" I'm here," I whispered in her ear, squeezing her waist. She rolled halfway over and moaned a little.

" My head hurts," she whined. I kissed her ear.

" Mine too," I said. "I ordered us a breakfast cocktail."

" Hair of the dog?" she asked, sounding a little wary.

" Nope, aspirin," I said, and she smiled.

" Excellent," she said, yawning and rolling over into my arms.

We took the Advil that was delivered, and then laid in bed, neither of us very hungry or able to get back to sleep, and both of us enchanted by the idea of waking up with the other.

" What did I drink last night?" Helga moaned, grinning a little. " I feel like hell."

" You had a glass of amaretto, three glasses of wine, and a number of after dinner drinks," I reminded her, having remembered that part of evening well enough. "And we, um. Did it," I said, childishly. Helga cracked up, and winced, rubbing her temples after she did.

" I know," she said, looking at me and chewing on her lip. "I remember it this time . . . mostly."

" The details are fuzzy," I said, seriously, "But, yeah. I remember it, too. You told me I was good," I added with a satisfied grin.

" I think you may have dreamed that part," Helga said, perfectly matter of fact, before breaking out into a fit of giggles. I pounced on her.

" I'm kidding, kidding," she said, laughing. "You were good, you were SO good," she enunciated, with comic melodrama.

I didn't waste much time before proving her right again. And, though sober, though achy and completely conscious, we weren't awkward with each other, as I had feared we might be. The history between us proved to be less a barrier and more an open door – how _could _we be awkward, when we had been to hell and back, together and for each other?

We spent the morning together in the hotel bathtub, warm and slippery with bubbles, watching each other from opposite ends. We talked about poetry, and publishing, and avoided the subject of our past and our future. In the moment I let myself believe that this balmy hotel room ease could last forever.

But as we dried of and got dressed a tension grew between us: where to go from here?

" So, what are your plans today?" I asked, buttoning my shirt, no longer able to stand the suspense. If she walked out of my life again – well. I wouldn't let her go as easily as I had in the past, I decided. I would track her down. I would scream at every doorstep in Seattle until I found her, until she let me in.

" I have to get back to Curly's," she said hurriedly, zipping up her skirt. "I promised him that I'd talk to some of his friends who are writers."

" Big fans of yours?" I asked, smiling.

" Something like that," she muttered, not looking at me. The way she was avoiding my gaze made me suspicious – I was afraid she might be trying to get away without a big scene. I had no idea why she'd want to flee, but that fear still lived in me, after what had happened last time. Now there was no Ruth to screw things up, but our truce still felt fragile, tenuous and far too new.

" Helga," I said, my heart filling with a vaporous hope. "What then? Will I see you again tonight?" I didn't want to ask straight out if I would ever see her again – I definitely couldn't deal with one of the two possible answers.

" I – I don't know," she stuttered, looking at me and then glancing quickly away. "I guess – I guess so."

" What's wrong?" I asked, walking to her and putting my hands on her shoulders. I felt them droop under my touch.

" Arnold," she said, after a pause. "There's . . . You don't know everything . . . everything about me, now. You don't know . . . the entire truth about my life since I left you."

" What are you talking about?" I asked, a sharp fear poking at my insides. This would be it: the deal breaker that Ruth had served as in the past. Why the hell couldn't the two of us just be happy? There always had to be something . . . but I told myself that no matter what Helga had done in her past, I would forgive her. I had done some things I wasn't proud of, myself – and I knew she was too true and compassionate to have done anything really horrible.

" Nothing," she said, with a little laugh. "It's just that – last night was so . . otherworldly. So perfect. I'm afraid that when . . . we really get to know each other . . . we'll find out we aren't the same people we were when we were eighteen."

" Thank God for that!" I said, scoffing. "Nobody is the same person at thirty that they are at eighteen, Helga. I don't expect that of you, and you shouldn't expect that of me, either – hell, you shouldn't want that from me!"

" I know," she said, forcing a laugh, kissing my cheek and stepping away. "I'm just being silly – I'm sorry. It's only because I'm scared," she admitted quietly, her back turned. "I want this so much," she whispered. I walked up behind her and laid my chin on her shoulder.

" So do I," I said, wrapping my arms around her. "I'll fight for us this time, Helga. I – I should have fought harder before." I suddenly realized what a fool I had been, not going to her – not doing everything I could until she'd all but slapped a restraining order on me.

" No, don't blame yourself," she said quietly. "I wouldn't have let you."

" Do you believe me now?" I asked, cautious but unable to resist. " Do you believe that I didn't betray you – that it was all a horrible mistake?"

" I don't know," Helga said, pushing my arms from her waist and walking to the door. I instantly regretted bringing it up, but it also made my blood boil that after everything we'd overcome she still couldn't give me the benefit of the doubt.

" It doesn't matter anyway," she said, putting her hand on the doorknob.

" I don't know if I can be with you if you still think I did that to you intentionally," I said, the words falling out of my mouth before I could stop them. Helga crossed her arms over her chest.

" It's not that I could never trust you," she said. "It's just that . . . if I admit that I was wrong . . . I'm admitting that I made the biggest mistake anyone has ever made. And I can't deal with that, I just can't. I'd rather go on believing that you lied to me than . . . admit to myself that I might have been wrong . . . and then have to live with what I've done."

" That's crazy!" I shouted, losing my cool, throwing out my arms. " You ran away because you thought I had cheated on you – it's a pretty standard reaction! We might have lost ten years together, and that's a tragedy, but we're still young, Helga. You didn't ruin anyone's life."

Helga stood completely still, backed up against the hotel room door. I saw the color drain from her face.

" Arnold, I've got to go," she said, her voice small. I frowned.

" Please . . .," I said, but stopped when I realized I didn't even know what to ask of her.

" Yesterday, and this morning," she said, smiling sadly. "Were so wonderful."

" Every day can be like this Helga," I said.

" No," she said. "Things will change. Like before – the fantasy will crumble."

" You can't live like this!" I shouted. "You can't avoid things just because you're afraid they won't live up to your fantasies – I mean, that's_ life_! You can't avoid life!"

" You don't understand at all!" she said, before opening the door and running out into the hall.

" Helga, wait!" I said, following her out. I ran out into the hall just as the elevator doors in the lobby were closing. I ran up to them and watched Helga, looking terrified, being shut inside the elevator.

" Don't go!" I pleaded, just as the doors closed. I cursed to myself as the elevator began to coast down toward the lobby, then I cursed her for being so damn resistant to happiness. What we had last night was not something that you could just cavalierly throw away – who would want to run from this? Was it because she was still angry about what had happened when we were eighteen?

I stomped back into my room and slammed the door behind me. The logical part of my brain was telling me I should give up on this woman. She was either crazy, or simply couldn't let go of the past. But the romantic in me, the sympathetic little kid, the eternal optimist – those parts were telling me to hang on to her for dear life, that she was worth saving, that things would work out if I just tried harder.

I tried sitting around my hotel room – I still had another day before I had to check out of the hotel, and I had planned on spending this day touring the city museums with Julie. But Julie was long gone, and I was hardly in the mood for looking at art – I was having a hard enough time concentrating on the crappy daytime television shows that I was watching, slumped in a gloomy posture on the bed. All I could think about was Helga – how frustrating she was, and how wanted her back there with me, frustration and all.

Finally, I gave up on getting her off of my mind. I thought of the mistake I had made when I was eighteen – not going to her right away, not doing everything I could, but instead moping about selfishly while she snuck out of town. I found a phone book in the drawer on the table beside the bed, and I pulled it out and found the entry for Thaddeus Gamelthrope. I called Curly's house and the phone rang four times before an answering machine picked up. I cursed to myself, then hung up the phone.

I felt defeated for a moment, then decided I would just go over there in person – crashing their little writers' party or whatever the hell was really going on. I would sweep her off her feet. I would tell her it was now or never – though of course I wouldn't mean it. I would wait for her. But she didn't need to know that yet. I wanted her to feel the urgency of the situation like I did – that every minute we spent apart was laughing in the face of all that we had learned: that we shouldn't be apart, couldn't, and had to rectify all that we'd missed by spending every moment of the rest of our lives together.

So it was in an intense romantic fervor that I marched downstairs, hailed a cab and sped off toward Curly's house. Curly lived in Santa Ana, and the drive was long and beautiful. I pressed my forehead against the dirty glass of the cab window, counting the minutes until I could make my plea. Maybe the first of many, maybe the last – depending on how effective it was. It was hard to tell, with Helga, what would win her over at any given minute.

The cab turned into a dingy, older suburban area, and we drove down a street past cracked sidewalks and Latino teenagers who were washing their cars. Finally we came to a house near the end of the street – it was small but sunny and charming, painted a very light blue, and featuring a largish, sagging porch near the front door. There was a boy sitting on the stairs playing with a Gameboy, and I was surprised – I tried to remember if Curly had told us last night that he had children. I told the driver to wait for me, just in case this was the wrong house.

As I walked up to Curly's house I decided the kid on the stairs couldn't be his – he did wear glasses, but he was blond and looked nothing like Curly. Probably a neighbor's kid, I thought, approaching the porch. The kid looked up at me as I walked toward him, watching me with suspicion. He looked to be about ten years old – seeing him made me think of Helga and I as kids, everything that had happened when we were ten years old. All of that seemed like someone else's memories, now.

" Hey," I called, walking over and standing at the bottom of the stairs.

" Hey," the kid answered flatly, holding his Gameboy in his lap and staring at me.

" Is this Curly's house?" I asked, looking around – sure enough, there was the old 1978 Bonneville Curly had driven in high school – now sitting at the end of his driveway, propped up on cinderblocks, three wheels missing.

" Yeah," the kid said. I waited for more, but he just stared at me, blinking behind his glasses.

" Um, is Helga Pataki around?" I asked, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden.

" Yeah, she's here," he said, standing. "Want me to get her for you?"

" Yeah, please," I said, a weird feeling growing in my stomach. "Who are you?" I asked, almost involuntarily, after the kid had turned to go for the front door of the house. He turned back.

" I'm Edward," he said, before turning back around. He pulled open the screen door and went inside, and I stepped up onto the porch, waiting, my hands shoved into my pockets. Something was off. I couldn't put my finger on it, but suddenly I felt like I shouldn't have come.

And then Edward's shout rang out through the house:

" MOM!" he called, and I heard his footsteps thundering up stairs.

It took me a second to put one and two together: I had asked for Helga, and the kid had said he was going to get her. And he had said 'Mom.' God, Helga had a kid! I was shocked, and kind of pissed of that she hadn't told me. Was this what she had meant when she had said this morning that I didn't know everything about her? Why would she think her having a kid would bother me?

And then I put one and two and _three_ together.

My knees gave out, and I stumbled backward, catching myself on the porch railing, which creaked under my weight. My breath caught, my heart stopped, my vision blurred, the landscape of Curly's neighborhood rushing at me and making me want to vomit.

No. No. It was impossible.

But then Edward jogged back down the stairs, and came out onto the porch again, letting the screen door slam behind him.

" She's coming," he told me, oblivious.

I couldn't speak, of course. I stared at him: ten years old. Blonde. Dark green eyes staring out at me, with growing unease, from behind his little wire-rimmed glasses.

I was staring myself in the fucking face, looking at this kid.

Better yet: and slowly dawning on me, as to save me from completely dropping dead on the spot:

I was staring at my ten year old kid.

" Holy shit," I whispered, my vision blurring again, but this time because my eyes were filling with tears.

" Are you okay?" Edward asked, wearily, backing up.

I couldn't even begin a thought process. Inside me vague feelings began to surface: relief, shock, disbelief, joy, pride, horror and then it came: rage. Rage. Helga. Pure, unfiltered rage at Helga.

She had lied to me. She had kept our son – she had –

I sunk down onto my knees on the porch, unable to even come up with qualifiers for the fury that was burning through me.

There was no way she could be that evil, I had to tell myself. There was no way the woman I had loved for so long could have been so heartless, so calculating, so completely selfish and terrible.

And then I saw her: standing behind the screen door, looking out at Edward and I. At my son and I. I looked from her to him, and back to her again. She had a look of pure sadness on her face, but I didn't buy it for a minute. I shook my head, slowly at first, then rapidly, furious.

" No, no," I said, trying not to start weeping but unable to help myself. "No, you couldn't have." I started backing down the stairs, desperate to get away, but finding it hard to make my legs work.

" Mom?" Edward said as Helga walked out onto to porch, uncertainty and fear in his voice. Helga glanced down at him quickly, then back down at me.

" Please," she said, quietly, on the verge of tears herself. But her tears were worth exactly shit to me now. "Please," was all she could say.

" How could you, how could you," I chanted, over and over again. I wanted to really lose it, to really tear into her, but I didn't want to scare the kid – my kid – OUR kid – any further.

" Arnold, you don't understand," Helga cried, walking down toward me, keeping her voice quiet because Edward was listening. "I was going to tell you. It was the whole reason I came to California, to tell you, because I didn't know how –"

" Shut up," I said in a hissed whisper, remembering something, remembering her anger, the way she had lashed out at me in the hospital that day, out of hurt.

But no. She had never known hurt, never known betrayal. Not like this. What she had felt was not even close to what I was feeling.

" Why don't you just _shut up_, Helga," I snarled, my lip trembling as I tried to restrain myself. Before I could completely fall apart I turned my back and made myself walk away, practically limping with the pain and shock of what I had just realized.

" Arnold, wait!" Helga was saying, but I ignored her. I climbed back into the cab that was waiting for me, and took one last look at the house, at Edward, who was standing on the porch, confused, watching me go.

I tried to get past how angry I was, which seemed impossible, but I tried to as I looked at my son, who was perfect, and beautiful, and, God – alive.

" Wrong house?" the driver asked, sounding pretty confused himself. Helga was standing in the middle of the driveway, hugging herself and crying.

" Yes," I said, my voice strange, harsh and crooked.

We drove away, and I couldn't help myself: as the cab sped off down the street I whirled around in my seat and again looked past Helga, at Edward. Crying, I decided that I never wanted to see Helga again, but, though I had only laid eyes on him for a few minutes, I already missed the sight of my son.


	9. Just A Stranger

9. Just/A/Stranger

" Once again, as predicted, left my broken heart open, and you ripped it out." – SR

I was sitting alone at a small table in a hip restaurant in downtown Los Angeles, waiting for Helga Pataki to arrive and tell me more about my son. I kept trying to process the situation in my head as I toyed nervously with my napkin, but it wouldn't compute. I ordered a Jack and Coke from the attractive waitress to try and clear the cobwebs out of my brain, or at least obscure them.

It had been a long couple of days. I had been staying in the same hotel room where Helga and I had physically reunited – where I had thought we had emotionally reunited as well. But that had all been shot to hell by what was revealed shortly thereafter. That she hated me enough to keep our child from me for ten years.

I shook with fury, thinking of it, squeezing the cloth napkin into my fist. I was afraid of what I would do, what I would feel, when Helga walked in the restaurant's front doors. I was afraid I would tip the table over, cause a scene, scream at her and be arrested for disturbing the peace. I hadn't spoken to her since the afternoon when I haphazardly came across Edward at Curly's house.

She had called the hotel room five or six times that first night, when I was still crying and breaking things. I had hung up on her every time. I spent that night in a mental state I can hardly describe, except to say that I didn't know what to do with my anger, my sadness, and the strange joy that had come along with them – joy at going from being a lonely orphan one minute to a man with a family and legacy the next.

I had lashed around the room, wanting to hit something. Towels were thrown, mirrors were smashed. It was unlike me, but who would behave like themselves after learning something like that? I had spent an equal amount of time in bed, weeping. I had avoided the bed where Helga and I had slept together. I cursed at it, even, wanting to rail at her, but unable to comprehend even facing her then. Around midnight, waking from a troubled, dreamless sleep, I had stumbled down to the hotel bar and gotten smashed. I don't remember how I made it back up to my room, but I woke up in that other bed: the bed I had shared with Helga. Disgusted, I had showered.

I talked to Curly on the phone that afternoon. At first I screamed at him, as he'd obviously known for some time about Edward, and hadn't told me at the wedding. He kept insisting that he thought it was Helga's place to tell me and hers alone, which I told him was bullshit. Still, he claimed that it was his idea for her to come to the wedding, to see me in person and find out if she was really still as angry with me as she thought she was. To see if she could really go on living the lie after facing me.

After I calmed down a little we talked about what to do next. He told me Helga had been moping about how I had found out, that she felt terrible and needed to talk to me. I told him that I didn't believe anyone who could do this to someone _could_ feel terrible – could feel _anything_. I was still completely stunned by her nerve, her malice.

I had eventually agreed to meet her here, in this quiet and trendy little restaurant. I got a table near the window, with a view of the sun going down over the pier. The agreement had been that we wouldn't talk about us – I had nothing left to say to her on the subject, anyway. Whatever chance we'd ever had at any kind of romance was dead and done with, as far as I was concerned.

But there was still the matter of the son that we shared, no matter how hard she'd tried to keep him entirely to herself. I didn't want to talk about why she did it. There was no excuse that I would accept. I just wanted to know everything, everything about our son. I wanted to know about his birth, his life, his first steps, his first word – and more than anything, I wanted to know what Helga had told him about me. If she had ever mentioned me at all. I was sure that Edward must have been curious about his father at some point – what would she have said? I was boiling with a desire to know everything she had kept from me – it was the only reason I had agreed to meet with her.

And I also wanted to arrange to see him again, though the thought did terrify me. Curly had told me that Helga hadn't told Edward who I was – she had simply explained me as an old friend from her childhood when he had asked who the strange, stuttering blond man who fled had been. We agreed – through the medium of Curly – to decide together how we would tell him about me.

We would agree upon which details to include, and which to leave out. Because so many of the details of our love affair were worth forgetting.

I had proposed this meeting as a sort of business dinner. Helga would brief me on Edward. Then we would come up with a plan for this project: the project of avoiding each other while sharing our son.

It could have been so easy, I thought, darkly, watching Helga walk cautiously through the restaurant's front doors. We could have done this together. All it would have taken was a little trust on her part – hell, a little humanity. Even if she truly believed that I was a heartless bastard who had cheated with Ruth, there was still no justification. Even if we had raised Edward together, hating each other all the while, it still would have been easier than this.

Helga walked to the table, her eyes on mine. I tried to burn a hole through her pupils with my furious stare, and she surprised me by not losing her nerve, not looking away. She didn't seem frightened at all, actually. She sat down in her chair and folded her arms over the table's white linen, exhibiting uncharacteristic grace.

Her tranquil veneer immediately made me lose my cool:

" God, you are despicable," I sneered, unable to stand the sight of her, extremely annoyed that she looked beautiful and poised, while I was wrecked and crumbling further.

" His name is Edward Estlin Pataki," she said evenly, ignoring my comment as if she hadn't heard it at all. " He was named for e.e. cummings."

I scoffed and rolled my eyes. It wasn't especially terrible, the name or the sentiment. I would have expected Helga to name him for a poet, and it could have been worse: a Byron or a Percy. But I was aggravated, remembering something she told me a long time ago, in the park, over a game of chess. She told me I could name our child if it was a boy.

" He was named partly for you, though I wouldn't have admitted it when I came up with the idea," she said, letting out her breath in a sigh. " Cummings is good, but not my favorite poet. Still, there was one poem of his that I always lingered over: 'Buffalo Bill's.'"

" I don't know it," I grumbled, looking out the window, pretending to be disinterested in the nonsensical sentiments she'd ascribed to our son, or even to me, for that matter. But I was listening.

" _Jesus, he was a handsome man_," Helga quoted. " That was what made me think of you. A handsome man riding a white horse. Stupid, I know. It could have been any man, there was nothing distinguishing to call to mind your face. But there were no handsome men, Arnold, there was only you. Only you, then."

I didn't look at her. I didn't want to hear it.

" God, you'll never understand," she said, shaking it off. " But I was reading that poem one day in class, in the writing seminar I was taking that summer."

She didn't have to clarify. In so many ways it was just _that_ summer. The only summer that mattered.

" It was right after we found out I was pregnant," she said, in a long sigh. " But before we had decided to keep the baby. The poem was my decision. I was thinking of you, about how I'd never really given much thought to the fact that the handsome man in the poem is 'defunct.' I felt like I would be ruining your life if I kept the baby. I thought, I won't. I knew you wouldn't stop me."

I didn't argue with her. She was right – I wouldn't have stopped her. It was her body, and I had been so terrified, felt so paralyzed.

" But the last line of the poem," she said, slowly shaking her head. " _How do you like your blue eyed boy, Mister Death?_ That line stuck in my head like a splinter. I'm no Pro Life activist, but I couldn't stop thinking of the baby as a blue eyed boy, and I just couldn't let him go."

" Ridiculous," I muttered to myself. Helga's life had been all about whims, clearly. But something in me was secretly, grudgingly, moved.

" Maybe," she said quietly, smoothing her napkin on the table. " But – I know I made the right decision. Edward is just, everything." She started to say something else, and I guessed that it might have been something like 'you wouldn't understand.' She stopped herself, wisely.

" Can I get you anything to drink?" the waitress asked, suddenly appearing beside the table. Helga and I both jumped.

" Oh – a glass of merlot," Helga said, a little flustered.

" Another," I said in a grumble, raising my now empty glass of Jack and Coke.

" So," Helga said, when the waitress had gone. " My pregnancy with him was terrible. That day – that day – I was brought into the hospital because I was having chest pains. It was a panic attack."

Neither of us said anything for a moment.

" But the baby was fine," she said, letting out her breath. " I lied –"

" No," I said, snapping my eyes up abruptly. " No." I didn't want to know anything about what she was feeling that day. It would be too close to an explanation, and any would be worthless, I had decided.

" Fine," Helga said quietly. The waitress reappeared and set our drinks down – I took a long gulp, the whiskey burning a warm trail down to my stomach.

" Anyway," she said, when the waitress had taken our dinner orders and gone, " It was a difficult pregnancy. I was depressed, obviously, and I wasn't gaining enough weight because I didn't have an appetite. Then the hormones kicked in and I wanted to eat all the time, which wasn't good, because the sudden gain put stress on my joints – oh, do you really want to hear about this?" she asked, sounding a little annoyed. I was looking down at my hands.

" Whatever," I muttered, though actually I had been hanging on every word. I felt cheated that I'd missed the pregnancy, even. I wasn't sure if I would survive what she would tell me next: Edward in the world, those thousands upon thousands of days when my son had walked the earth, existing away from me.

All it took was:

" He was born on January second."

And my eyes filled with tears. I stared down at my lap, trying not to show her how upset I was, how I wanted to kill her or run from her, and how much I still needed her, how much I needed her to tell me everything I'd missed, so I could mourn every second fully.

" I was in labor for eighteen hours," she said, and I felt a little sadistic glee. " Edward was two weeks early, and he weighed seven pounds and eight ounces."

" I hate you," I said, unable to hold it in. I put my napkin over my face and cried into it.

" I thought we weren't going to do this," Helga said weakly. I heard a shake in her voice, one she tried to hide.

" Keep talking," I barked, wiping at my face.

" Arnold –"

" Just tell me!" I said, a harsh whisper. Helga looked around the restaurant – it was early, and mostly empty, except for a few couples sitting toward the back.

" My mother and Olga were there when he was born," she said. " My father was still furious with me for going through with the pregnancy, and would be for a long time. He didn't find out I was pregnant until I was admitted to the hospital that day, for the panic attack. He didn't understand why I would want to have the baby of someone who – of someone – I didn't trust."

I gave her a dark look. She met it with one of her own, and I realized that she still didn't believe that I hadn't invited Ruth into my room that day, and that she never would. It was her defense mechanism; she needed to doubt me in order to defend her own lies. I decided it was beside the point now, and said nothing.

" Edward was a good baby," she said. " He brightened up my whole life instantly. I – thought about you often, of course. But I didn't feel bereft anymore. Edward was all I needed."

" How can you sit there and –" I began in a snarl.

" Look," she snapped, cutting me off. " There's no appropriate or sensitive way to say all of this. So just grin and bear it, and then you can curse me all you want."

Our dinners arrived; neither of us touched them.

She told me about Edward as an infant – the diaper changing, bathing and feeding routines that she learned from her aunt. She told me about pre school, how she had driven him there on the first day. I heard the legacy of her own first day of school – that day we met – behind her words, though she mentioned nothing of it.

" He was always smart, of course," she said, and I saw her crediting herself. " He learned to read early, and was reading chapter books before any of his classmates in elementary school."

" What's his favorite subject?" I blurted out. My cheeks turned red – I felt a little like a schoolgirl inquiring about her secret crush.

" Science," Helga said, and I could tell by her tone that she didn't approve. She would want him to love words and language, like she did. I smiled to myself, satisfied. I thought of my parents, the doctors. Those were my genes, I thought, trying not to get misty eyed again.

" Does he have a lot of friends?" I asked, thinking of myself as a ten year old, how there were always some neighborhood kids up in my room, how we would all congregate outside the Sunset Arms on weekends – even Helga.

" Not really," she said, disappointing me. " He had some trouble with bullies in school last year."

" Dammit," I muttered to myself. She had turned him into a mama's boy. I told myself that I would somehow reverse the damage.

" He does have some good friends, though, boys that come over to the apartment all the time," she told me.

" What are they like?" I asked, eager to have the privilege of approving or disapproving of who my son hung around with.

" Oh, I don't know, Arnold," Helga said in a sigh, rubbing her face. " They're little boys." In the moment I saw how exhausted she really was, but when she lifted her eyes again, the mask was back on.

" How could you do this to me?" I asked, my voice a hollow croak. We stared at each other over the table. She was right there, but we were miles apart. I felt like I didn't even know who she was, like she was just a stranger who had attacked me, unprovoked.

" We're not going to talk about that, Arnold," she said, quietly. " Remember?"

" Why, to make it easier on you?" I asked, glaring at her, sniffling.

" It was your condition," she said. " Curly told me –"

" I told Curly I didn't want to talk about it, because no excuse would matter," I said, shaking my head. " But you know what? I changed my mind. Now you've got me curious. So go ahead. Give me your best shot."

" I'm not going to explain now," Helga said. " It's too close. You're too angry."

" I'm going to be angry for the rest of my life," I snarled.

" I thought you wanted to know what I'd told him about you," Helga said, changing the subject. I would have called her on it, but she was right. I did want to know.

" Well?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

" I told him his father disappeared," she said, almost in a whisper. She seemed embarrassed. I tried to enjoy it.

" What?" I asked, drinking.

" Like your parents," she said, not looking at me. " I told him his father was wonderful, a teenage prince. I described you the way I wanted to remember you. Perfect."

" I was never perfect," I muttered.

" No, you were," Helga said softly, looking at her hands. " For a while, you were."

" Whatever," I grumbled. " What do you mean, like my parents? You told him I disappeared in South America?"

" Yeah," she muttered. " I borrowed your tragedy. It seemed right. Inherited."

" You're sick," I hissed, the little pinpricks of pain that jabbed at me whenever I thought of my parents surfacing.

" Maybe," she said. " But I kept him safe. He didn't think you'd died, or abandoned us. It was such a . . . romantic little fairy tale. The father goes off to save some far off village, and just never comes back."

" Fairy tale?" I said, tears threatening again, my voice uneven. " They abandoned me, Helga."

She looked up at me sharply, frowning.

" What?"

" Never mind," I said, my hands shaking fiercely. I looked down at the pasta I'd ordered; it was getting cold. I'd never felt less hungry.

" Arnold, what are you –"

" I said forget it," I snapped. " And just what the hell is he going to think now? What am I supposed to do, keep lying? Say I just crawled out of the jungle?"

" No, of course not," Helga said, letting out her breath. She picked up her fork, poked at her salad, then put it back down. She took a long drink of her wine.

" If you're betting on me disappearing again and letting you get on with your little life, it's not going to happen," I grumbled.

" Arnold, stop it," Helga said, her voice barely a squeak.

" Why should I?" I returned childishly.

" I don't know," she said, shaking her head. " I love you."

I almost fell out of my chair. I almost laughed. Instead I sneered and leaned over the table:

" Liar," I hissed. " You hate me."

" I don't," she said, starting to choke up now. She put her hands over her face.

" No one would treat someone they love like this," I said, beginning to lose it again myself. " Do you know what you did to me, Helga? Do you even realize what you've _done_?"

" I've spent the past ten years of my life feeling guilty about it," she said, sobbing into her hands. " Even when I was trying to hate you, I still felt like a monster."

I didn't know what to say at that point. I wiped my face with my napkin. I wanted another drink, but the waitress seemed to be avoiding our table, since we were obviously having some personal issues. We were quiet for awhile, Helga dabbing at the corners of her eyes and sniffling. I was hating myself because I couldn't quite connect the image of her with what she had done: just looking at her made me want to cross the table and comfort her. I stayed in my seat, though, my mind conscious of the fact that I might step away from her with another knife in my back.

I was thinking about just getting up and leaving when a tall woman with dark hair walked through the restaurant's front door. I watched her over Helga's shoulder: she was slim and stylish, wearing sunglasses indoors and carrying a designer bag over her arm. She reminded me of Ruth, actually – the cool veneer, hiding some deep insecurity made more obvious by the effort.

She saw me looking at her, and pulled her sunglasses onto her head. I glanced away and then back again – there was something familiar about her disinterested gaze. I noticed she was walking over to the table, and looked at Helga, but she was too busy pushing the lettuce on her plate around to notice.

" Ho-ly shit," the dark haired woman pronounced, her mouth curving into a smug little smile as she stared at me, standing beside the table. The smile gave it away – I remembered her. It was Rhonda Lloyd.

" Rhonda?" Helga said, looking up at her with something like distaste. Rhonda's grin widened.

" I'll be damned!" she said, looking back and forth between the two of us. " Helga and Arnold? God, you two didn't get married, did you?"

" No!" we both answered at once. Rhonda laughed.

" An affair, then?" she asked lightly.

" We're in town for Eugene's wedding," I explained.

" Oh, yeah," Rhonda said with a little nod. " I got an invite. Had an audition that day, though."

" You're still acting?" Helga asked coldly. None of us had seen Rhonda in anything recently – her biggest break so far had been ten minutes of screen time and a bloody death in a B-movie horror film.

" Sorta," Rhonda said with a shrug. " Mostly commercials. I'm actually here to meet my agent. What are you two up to these days?"

" Helga's a writer," I said, knowing it would embarrass her to talk about it with Rhonda. " I'm in publishing," I added, drinking the melted ice cubes from my glass.

" No shit!" Rhonda said with a grin. " Did he publish you?" she asked Helga.

" No," Helga answered curtly.

" You two are seeing each other, though?" Rhonda asked, looking at each of us. Helga and I glanced at each other.

" We're just catching up," she said quickly.

" But we did have sex last night," I added drunkenly. Helga turned a bright shade of red, and looked down at her lap.

" Lovely," Rhonda said, raising an eyebrow. " You know, my fondest memory of you two is finding you in my tub the morning after my last high school party." She grinned wickedly.

" We were drunk," Helga muttered in self defense.

" It was just such a laugh," Rhonda said, shaking her head. " The two of you – who the hell would have thought, right?"

" Right," I answered, swallowing the last of the ice cubes.

" How's that little prick Curly doing these days?" Rhonda asked, pretending to be flippant. " Is he still in L.A.?"

" Yes," Helga answered with a sigh. " He's given up acting, though."

" I haven't seen him in two years," Rhonda said, examining her nails. " Did he ever get married?"

" No," Helga said, smoothing her napkin on her lap. " He's still in love with you. Since we're being frank," she added, glaring at me.

" Oh, please," Rhonda said, laughing nervously. " You're kidding."

" I'm not," Helga said sharply. " Look – it's great to see you, Rhonda, but we're kind of in the middle of something here."  
" Actually, I was just leaving," I said, throwing my napkin on the table. I stood, my knees wobbling a little.

" Hey, we should all get together sometime, since you're in town," Rhonda said in a rush, as Helga put some money on the table.

" Yeah, sure," Helga muttered, distracted. " Just give Curly a call. We'll work something out."

" Tell him I'm divorced!" I heard Rhonda call as I reached the front door. I pushed out onto the sidewalk, and heard Helga following me.

I walked down the street, hands in my pockets. She walked beside me, and we didn't speak for awhile. Eventually we came to the pier, and I stopped and leaned against the wooden railing. Helga stood beside me, her arms crossed over her chest.

" I can't believe you told her we had sex," she said.

" You owe me," I muttered, not sure what I meant exactly. " And anyway, it's Rhonda."

" She and Curly," Helga said, shaking her head. " It's so stupid. They love each other, and they can't stand each other. It's been that way since they were kids."

" Kind of like us," I said, speaking without thinking. Helga looked at me, and I stared at her, mustering up all of my meanness, all of my anger:

" Except that I don't love you anymore," I said, staring her in the face. I saw it, like that day she found me with Ruth: the almost imperceptible sinking of the corners of her eyes, a sign of her heart shattering.

" Liar," she whispered, staring me down, trying to call my bluff. But I saw uncertainty all over her.

" No, it's true," I insisted, though of course it wasn't. It was hurting me, too, to talk to her like this. I wanted to pull her close and forgive her, like I always had. But she had never deserved it, and she didn't deserve it now. I had to learn to treat her like everyone else, like everyone who could get it through their heads that she wanted to be miserable, to be alone.

" I didn't even know you," I said, shaking my head. " How could I have loved you?"

" So you never loved me," Helga said with a half nod, trying to keep her voice steady. The wind from the ocean blew strands of her hair across her face, but she didn't reach up to brush them away. She seemed frozen, stiff.

" I never even knew you," I said coldly. " I never knew someone who was capable of something like this. I thought you were someone else."

" Tell me," Helga said in a squeak. " Tell me who you thought I was."

I paused for a moment, remembering. Remembering the girl I had missed for ten years.

" She was beautiful," I began. " And she was kind, and shy, and surprising. And she took care of the people she loved."

" No," Helga said, shaking her head. " No, that wasn't me. I always treated the people I loved like garbage. Well – I always treated you like garbage. And you were the only person I ever loved, before Edward."

" That's not true," I said, looking at my feet.

" Yes it is," she said, and I believed her, and felt sorry for her, though I knew I shouldn't.

" You didn't always treat me like garbage," I said.

" There were a few weeks," she admitted.

" Look," I said, turning from her, looking out at the ocean. " There's nothing left to say about us. Let's drop it."

" Right," Helga said softly. " You don't love me anymore. We'll leave it at that."

I couldn't look at her, then. Of course it was a lie – I couldn't just turn my feelings off like a switch. Apparently she could, though – wasn't that what she had done that day, that day she saw me with Ruth and ripped my son away from me?

" When can I see him?" I asked, not wanting to go over the details of our pathetic relationship anymore.

" Tomorrow?" Helga suggested weakly. I could hear in her voice that she was trying not to cry. I wondered idly in the moment how much of our time together had been spent weeping. God, we were a sad excuse for a pair of lovers.

Thinking of us as "lovers" made me remember that we were actually husband and wife. We had never bothered to get the divorce – I'd never come close to getting married, and part of me had always secretly hoped that she would eventually come back to me, her husband.

" Do you want to get a divorce?" I asked her. It was a stupidly phrased question; I realized this as soon as I heard myself ask it. I had just told her I didn't love her anymore, and I was asking _her_ if _she_ wanted a divorce?

Helga stared at me blankly for a moment.

" I forgot we were married," she said plainly. I wasn't sure if I believed her or not, but it didn't matter, really.

" Well, we might as well," I said.

" I . . .," she began, but she didn't seem to know what to say. I didn't, either.

" How about tomorrow afternoon at one?" I blurted out. A fear formed in me as soon as the words left my lips, reminiscent of the terror I used to feel in college, knowing a presentation or test was coming up. I was going to have to present myself, to perform, to make an impression on this kid, my son. And I didn't know a damn thing about kids.

" Tomorrow afternoon at one," she repeated. " For . . . the divorce?"

" No, I want to visit with my son," I said. " If you don't mind," I added coldly.

" So you want me to tell him about you?" she asked. I could tell the idea of it was as terrifying to her as it was to me, but I thought she deserved to be the one who broke the news.

" Maybe not yet," I said. " Maybe I'll just meet him first. As a friend of yours."

" Okay," she agreed, nodding slowly. " Where do you want to meet?"

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

We chose the beach; it seemed somehow neutral. I spent the rest of the evening drinking and worrying about what would happen the following day. Sitting in the hotel bar, a woman tried to come on to me. She was pretty, but my eyes skipped over like a stone: I couldn't think about anything but meeting Edward, and what the hell to do about Helga. I still felt furious with her, but after that day with her, those words, I wasn't sure. I just wasn't sure if I meant everything I'd said. Or, I knew I didn't mean all of it, but I wasn't sure if I _wanted_ to mean any of it.

I had trouble sleeping. I thought for hours about what I would wear. I woke up at six AM and took a long shower, trying to calm myself down. I kept thinking about that little boy on Curly's porch, the wire-rimmed glasses, the messy blond hair. The eyes like mine, just like mine. It had been like looking at an old photograph of myself as a kid. It seemed miraculous that, even so far away from me for so long, my son had retained something of mine.

My stomach was in knots the whole morning, as I waited for one o'clock to approach. I tried to eat breakfast in the café in the hotel's lobby, but I felt like I was going to throw up. I had never wanted someone to like me so badly, and I had never been so sure, somehow, that they wouldn't.

When one o'clock finally rolled around, I walked from the hotel down to the beach in the outfit I had at last decided on: a white collar shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and khaki pants. It was a little preppier than my normal attire, but I felt like I was going to a job interview, like I needed to dress respectably to make an impression.

I walked down to the spot where Helga had told me to meet she and Edward: about fifty feet from the old lifeguard stand we'd been able to see from the pier the day before. I could see them as I approached, trudging slowly through the sand. My heart was pounding, and part of me just wanted to give up and run away. But I walked forward.

Helga waved to me as I walked toward them, and I plastered an overly happy grin on my face and waved back. It was going to be odd to be nice to Helga again, but of course I would put on a pleasant front for our son.

Our son. The words stuck in my brain like a thorn; I couldn't make sense of the notion, even as I came to a stop in front of them and stared down at the boy. Edward was sitting on a red blanket Helga had spread out over the sand, and he had a bag from In and Out Burger in his lap.

" Edward, this is my friend Arnold," Helga said, and I could hear in her voice that she was just as nervous as I was about this little outing. Edward stared up at me, his glasses glinting in the sunlight and throwing white spots of light against my eyes.

" Hey, Edward!" I said, overly cheerful. I wasn't sure if I should sit down next to him, or if that would be too forward. I just stood before him and grinned like an idiot, trying not to tear up at the sight of his face, or start railing at Helga again as the feelings of loss resurfaced in me.

" Hey," Edward said flatly, staring up at me. He turned and looked to Helga, who was standing behind him and wringing her hands. She was wearing a white t-shirt and a long, purple skirt, and for the first time since we'd reunited I noticed that she looked older.

" Can I start eating now?" Edward asked his mother, sounding annoyed.

" Yes," Helga said, her voice unnaturally high. " Let's all eat. Arnold, we got you a cheeseburger and fries."

" Thanks," I said, sitting down next to her on the blanket, across from Edward. I watched him unwrap a hamburger in his lap and bite into it. Helga handed me one of my own, but eating still seemed dangerous, and I didn't want to take my eyes off of Edward long enough to unwrap it. I couldn't put my finger on why, but for some reason every move this kid made was fascinating. _I made him_, I thought to myself, the idea sending a happy little shudder down through me. Or we did, I thought, glancing at Helga. She was nibbling on fries, watching Edward just as intently as I was, as if waiting for a reaction.

" Arnold's from New York, Edward," Helga said. " We grew up there together."

" Oh," Edward said, swallowing. He looked at me. " Do they have a lot of crime there?" he asked me.

" I got mugged once," I admitted happily.

" Really?" Helga said, turning to me.

" Yep," I said, looking at her. When our son was sitting so close to us, it was hard for me to be mad at her. I wanted to grab her shoulders and jump up and down with her, I was so excited about this little person we had haphazardly created.

" Did they hit you?" Edward asked, intrigued.

" More like pushed me," I told him. " And then pointed a gun at me."

" A gun!" Edward said, sitting up tall, excited.

" Yeah," I said, trying to suppress a grin. I couldn't believe it – he found me interesting! " He made me give him my wallet, and then he ran away."

" You didn't beat him up?" Edward asked, his face falling a little in disappointment.

" Well, he had a gun," I said, feeling suddenly embarrassed.

" When was this?" Helga asked, looking at me with concern.

" Three years ago," I answered.

The conversation dwindled after that, all three of us eating our hamburgers – Helga and I nervously, and Edward bored and oblivious, staring out at the ocean.

" So, Edward," I said, clearing my throat. " You play any sports?"

" No," Edward answered, still looking out at the water. " I hate sports."

" Oh," I said, a little disappointed. " So – what are your hobbies?"

" I don't know," Edward said, his tone testy. He balled up the wrapper from his hamburger and looked at me seriously. " Who are you?" he asked.

Helga forced a laugh. " I told you," she said. " He's my friend from school. We grew up together – we've known each other since we were four years old!"

" So is he like your boyfriend now?" Edward asked, giving Helga a look. She frowned.

" No," she answered evenly. " We're friends."

" Yeah, right," Edward muttered. " That's what you said about Steve when I first met him."

" Steve?" I piped up, looking at Helga.

" A guy I dated for awhile," she muttered out of the corner of her mouth.

" He was such a dork," Edward said. " He was always quoting Monty Python."

" Does your mom have a lot of boyfriends?" I asked him, my cheeks heating. It made me mad, somehow. Jealous, but also mad on Edward's behalf. He didn't need some Monty Python quoting deadbeat in his life when he had a perfectly good estranged father.

" No," Edward answered in a sigh. " Why do you care?" he challenged, looking at me squarely. I sat back.

" Yes, Arnold, why do you care?" Helga asked, clearly annoyed by this line of conversation. They both stared at me.

" I, uh, don't," I lied, shrugging. " Just curious."

" Mom, I'm bored," Edward said, looking to her.

" Well," Helga said with a sigh. " We could all . . . go to a movie or something."

" No, I want to go back to Curly's house and play Gameboy," Edward said, pulling his knees up to his chest.

" Well, I'm sorry, but we're not playing Gameboy today," Helga said sternly. " Remember your time limits."

" But we're on vacation!" Edward protested.

" We're not discussing it," Helga said, giving him a look that silenced him.

" Hey, it's okay," I said. " He can go home and play Gameboy if he wants." My heart sank as I said it, but I didn't want to be a party-pooper.

" No," Helga said. " I've got this day planned and we're all going to spend some time together. I thought maybe we could go to the aquarium."

" Wow, that sounds boring," Edward grumbled. I couldn't help but notice that he'd inherited his mother's bratty disposition, and it almost made me grin: this kid who looked exactly like me, acting exactly like Helga. Who would have thought, indeed.

We cleaned up our trash, folded up the red blanket, and made our way to Helga's car, which was parked on the side of the road that ran along the beach. I climbed into the back and let Edward ride up front with Helga. As we drove to the aquarium she played a jazz station on the radio. I watched she and Edward from the back seat: they had an identical shade of blond hair, just a little lighter than mine. I had the inclination to reach into the front of the car and wrap my arms around both of them. I didn't want to forgive Helga, but when she was sitting beside our son it seemed so necessary, and so possible.

But no, I thought, as we pulled into the aquarium's parking lot. No, she couldn't ever be forgiven. I climbed out of the car and watched Edward standing on the asphalt, stretching and yawning. I reminded myself of everything I'd missed, of how hard it would be to build a relationship with him now, and I held on to my grudge for dear life.

" When are you going back to New York?" Helga asked me as we walked toward the aquarium's front entrance.

" Oh, I don't know," I said. " I was supposed to go back yesterday. When are you going back to Seattle?"

" I have to be back at work on Monday," Helga said. " I teach at a community college."

" Really? You didn't tell me that." I was surprised, and strangely pleased, with the idea of Helga as a teacher. But then it dawned on me: I had to be at work on Monday, too. Helga and I had separate lives in two very separate states – how the hell were we going to share our son? I looked at Edward as Helga paid for our tickets, and the idea of having to leave him felt painful.

We spent an hour in the aquarium that day, quietly looking at the fish. Edward pretended to be disinterested at first, but eventually he gave up and stared in open wonder at the creatures behind the glass. Helga and I stood behind him, watching him watching the fish.

" There goes a shark," he would mutter in quiet amazement as a hammerhead swam by. Washed in the blue light of the aquarium tanks he seemed so unreal, and I realized for the first time that I wanted to hug him, to hold him and not let go. The want ripped through me as we made our way through the aquarium – I wanted to hold his hand, to squeeze his shoulder, something. By the time we made it to the gift shop I was feeling faint from the swell of emotions I'd been through that day, not to mention in the past week. I stood with my arms crossed over my chest, lingering near a wall of t-shirts with Helga while Edward perused the selection of toys.

" Are you okay?" Helga asked, laying a hand on my back. I shut my eyes – I wished she wouldn't touch me like that. It was making me want to crumble into her arms, which could never happen again. If it did I would forgive her, I knew I would, and I couldn't – I could never, never let her get away with what she'd done.

" I'm fine," I lied, willing myself not to look at her. Her hand slid from my back.

" Sorry he's so grumpy," she said quietly. " He thinks you're a new boyfriend, no matter how much I insist otherwise."

" Have they always been nice to him, your boyfriends?" I asked testily. She frowned.

" Of course," she said. " And anyway, they never lasted for very long. He only met them a few times, briefly."

" Good," I said quickly, though I wasn't sure why. Edward jogged over to us with a stuffed turtle in his arms.

" Look, Mom," he said, holding it up to her. " My favorite."

" Edward loves turtles," Helga said, reaching out to smooth his hair. I envied her, that easy intimacy. Another thing she'd stolen from me. Would I ever be able to reach out and casually touch my son's hair, or would I always feel like a stranger to him?

" Can I get it, Mom?" he asked her, hugging the stuffed toy to his chest.

" How much?" she asked warily.

" I'll get it for you," I offered. Edward gave me a suspicious look.

" Okay," he said cautiously, after a moment's pause. We went to the cashier and I paid for the toy.

" Tell Arnold thank you," Helga said as we walked out of the shop. Edward turned and looked at me.

" Thanks, Arnold," he said. My heart lifted. It hurt to hear him call me 'Arnold,' though it would have freaked me out to hear 'Dad,' I imagined.

Helga drove us over to Curly's house, and Edward fell asleep in the front seat on the way there, holding his turtle in his lap. I leaned forward, putting my chin on the back of Helga's seat.

" Oh, God," I whispered, trying not to completely break down. " He's so perfect. Helga, how could you? How? I – I . . . What's going to happen now?"

" Shhh," was all she said in response to my impossible questions. I sighed and sat back, and she looked at me in the rear-view mirror. She looked scared, and sorry. I looked away.

When we arrived at Curly's house Helga roused Edward, and he groggily stumbled up the front steps and into the house. Helga and I followed him in.

" I think you might need a nap," Helga told him as we walked into the kitchen, where we found Curly peeling an orange and reading the newspaper. He was wearing a t-shirt and pajama pants, and looked like he'd just gotten up, though it was past three o'clock.

" I'm not tired," Edward grumbled, walking in and sitting beside Curly. He put his stuffed turtle down on the table and rested his chin on its fuzzy shell.

" Hey guys," Curly said. " Have a big day?" he asked, looking at Edward. " What's that you've got there?"

" Arnold got it for me," Edward mumbled, putting his arms around the turtle. I sat down at the table across from him, beside Curly, while Helga rummaged in the fridge.

" Wow, that was nice," Curly said, winking at me. " Hey, did you know me and Arnold were in school together when we were your age?"

" You were?" Edward asked, lifting his head a little.

" Yep," Curly said with a nod. " Arnold was like, incredible. Your mom and I were big trouble, but he could always calm us down. He was a real peacemaker." He grinned at me.

Edward looked at me and then back at Curly. I could tell he liked Curly and maybe respected his opinion a bit more than he did his mother's.

" I forgot to tell you," Helga said to Curly, coming over to the table with a glass of iced tea. " We saw Rhonda at Deluca's yesterday."

" You did?" Curly asked, freezing in the midst of his orange-peeling.

" Mom, were you really big trouble?" Edward asked, yawning.

" She was," I answered. " Your mom ruled our elementary school with an iron fist."

Helga grinned a little and rolled her eyes. Edward smirked.

" What did Rhonda have to say, anyway?" Curly asked, looking back to his orange and feigning disinterest.

" She's divorced," Helga answered, taking a sip of her tea. Curly froze again, and raised an eyebrow.

" Oh, big surprise," he muttered.

" Who's Rhonda?" Edward asked.

" Evil incarnate," Curly answered. I stifled a laugh, and Helga gave him a look.

" Give me a break!" she scoffed. " She wants to plan a get-together with the four of us," she said, nodding to me. " I told her to call you."

" Terrific," Curly said sarcastically.

" Mom, can I play Gameboy yet?" Edward asked. Helga sighed heavily.

" _Fine_," she said, and he bolted from the table. " Say goodbye to Arnold first!" Helga called, and Edward froze in the kitchen doorway, and turned back.

" Bye, Arnold," he said, giving a little wave before trotting off.

" Bye," I said, trying to keep my voice from breaking. Every time he acknowledged me it felt like I had won some sort of prize.

" Did you tell him?" Curly whispered when he was gone.

" No," Helga said. " We're – waiting."

" For what?" Curly asked, looking at her, and then at me. " It's never going to get any easier."

" I don't know," Helga said, shutting her eyes. " I don't know, Curly."

" I'm gonna go," I said, standing. " I feel kind of . . . dizzy."

" Okay," Helga said, sighing. " I'll drive you home."

" See you later," Curly said, popping a slice of orange into his mouth.

During the drive home, Helga and I were quiet. I wasn't sure if I wanted to start crying or to bounce around the car with joy. I didn't want to open my mouth, because it seemed like every discussion we could possibly get into was doomed to argument and futility.

" Was it hard?" I finally asked, as we drove back into town.

" What?" she asked.

" Doing it all by yourself," I said. I wanted her to say yes, of course. I wanted her to say that she had needed me, that she wished I had been there.

" Sometimes," she said. " But I had my aunt to help, when I needed a babysitter, or some mature advice."

" Were you lonely?" I asked, looking down at my lap.

" What do you care?" she asked, suddenly angry. I looked up at her.

" I guess I don't," I snapped back.

" Yes," she said quietly, after a few minutes had passed. " I thought about you every day. I still do, every time I look at him."

" How are we going to do this?" I asked, letting her words roll off of me, hating how they made me feel good, how they made me want to reach across the car and touch her.

" I don't know," she said, pulling up to the curb beside my hotel. She put the car in park and looked at me.

" I want to be part of his life," I said, though the very idea seemed alien – me, with a kid. And how the hell would Helga fit into that picture?

" I want you to, too," she said.

" You have a funny way of showing it," I said darkly, glaring at her.

" I have wanted to tell you for so long now," she said quietly. " But I was so . . . afraid. Of how you'd react. I was afraid that if I even saw you again, I would remember how much I loved you. I was afraid I would forgive you," she said, looking at me.

I laughed a little to myself – so we shared the same fear. What the hell is wrong with us? I wondered.

" How are we ever going to tell him?" I asked.

" I was thinking maybe we'd tell him – that you were – that I thought you were . . .," she trailed off. " Oh, I don't know. I just don't want to tell him I lied to you. I . . . it's the worst thing I've ever done, and I don't want my son to know I did it. He'll hate me."

I opened my mouth to berate her, to tell her she deserved no less, but then she crumpled, crying quietly with her hands over her face, her neck bent toward the steering wheel. I willed myself not to rub my hand over her back, though I wanted to.

" We'll tell him something else," I said. " For now."

" Tomorrow," she said, lifting her head and wiping at her tears. " I can't take the waiting any longer. My nerves are wracked."

" _Yours_ are!" I said, getting angry again. " How the hell do you think I feel?"

" Oh, Arnold, I don't know how you feel!" Helga cried, her shoulders shaking. " I wish I could figure it out."  
" Well, I'll make it easy for you!" I said. " I feel angry. There. That's all I've been able to feel for the past two days."

" You don't even feel a little – proud? Happy? Pleasantly surprised?" she asked timidly, wiping her nose on her sleeve.

" Are you kidding?" I said, shaking my head slowly. " I only just met him, and he's the greatest thing I've ever done."

Helga smiled through her tears, and reached over to touch my cheek. I moved away from her hand, grabbing for the door handle.

" Hey, don't," I said, looking away.

" Sorry, I –"

" It's just that I'm afraid I'll forgive you," I muttered, opening the door.

" I don't expect you to," she said as I was climbing out.

" Liar," I said, leaning back in and looking at her. " That's why you loved me, Helga. Because I was the only person who was willing to forgive you for all the shit you pulled."

" No," she said. " That's not why I loved you."

" Well then, why?" I asked, frustrated.

" I didn't love you because you were forgiving," she said. " I loved you because you thought I was worth being forgiven."

I was quiet for a moment. I closed the car door and walked around to her side of the car, stood on the sidewalk and looked down at her through the open window. I wanted to tell her that I used to think that, but that I no longer believed she was worth anything. But looking down at that face, that needy, pitiful, Helga face that she only allowed to show when she was at rock-bottom, I just couldn't do it. She had taken so much from me, but I just couldn't crush her like that.

" I'll call you tonight," I said. " And we'll figure out a time to meet tomorrow."

" Okay," she said weakly. She looked so tired. I felt it, too – I planned on going upstairs and sleeping for at least five hours.

We said goodbye and I watched her drive away. As I turned and went inside the hotel I felt alarmingly hollow. As tired as I was, and as much as I needed to organize my thoughts, I didn't want my lonely hotel room. I wanted my family back. That infuriating girl who had just driven away, and my little boy, who liked turtles.

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A/N: I always tend to get a lot of writing done when I'm procrastinating schoolwork, and this chapter is an example of that phenomenon. I hope readers will forgive Arnold for being furious; I think he has a right to be much angrier than he is here. I hope everyone will still be able to sympatheize with Helga, too . . . and my apologies for throwing Rhonda in there; much as I try I just can't write Arnold/Helga without some cheeky Curly/Rhonda in the background!

A new chapter will likely be up in January, if not the end of this month.


	10. Some Genetic Guilt

10.

" And I'm not buying it, either, but I'll trying selling it anyway." –R.K.

I showed up at Curly's house early, with a bottle of cheap merlot in my hand. He was having a party, the occasion obscure. I had some idea that it was attempt to get Helga and I together, or at least to give me another chance to visit with Edward, which I wanted. But being around Helga still felt dangerous. I didn't trust myself in California; it was Monday, and I was supposed to be in New York, just leaving work, heading home to drink and sulk and wish none of this had ever happened. Yet here I was, having called in sick long distance, walking up to Curly's porch in the dusty, smoggy air of late afternoon in Los Angeles.

I had a problem with showing up chronically early to parties, and this was no exception. I just didn't understand the fact that, when people told you to come at five, you were really supposed to arrive at seven – if you were hip enough to pull it off. Maybe I wasn't hip, never would be, or maybe I just liked to get a few drinks in me before everyone else arrived.

I knocked on the frame of Curly's screen door, peering inside his ramshackle little house, at the stairs and foyer, which were both empty. I could see back into the kitchen, and could hear water running. I couldn't help finding Curly's house charming, though it was the polar opposite of my swank Manhattan apartment. It was a two-story house, probably built in the sixties, paint peeling and roof tiles missing. Inside there was clutter everywhere, tons of windows, a great view down into the valley, and dust all over everything. I felt oddly comfortable in this place where I had first met my son.

Finally I gave up on anyone answering the door and walked in, feeling a bit bold but entitled. When I walked back into the kitchen I found Curly at the sink, washing vegetables.

" Hey, Arnold!" he said, without turning around. "You're early."

" It's ten after five, you told me to come at five."

" I did?" he said, pausing for a minute and frowning. He shrugged. "Ah, well. You can help me cook." He turned. "You brought wine!"

" It's nothing fancy," I said, setting the bottle down on his kitchen table. I felt like a bit of an idiot, bringing merlot and wearing nice gray slacks and a button-up shirt. Curly was wearing a raggy, torn t-shirt that looked like it had once been white and said 'STOP THE WAR AGAINST WOMEN!' in black letters across the front, with baggy sweatpants and bare feet. And while I had pictured, naively, the party guests circulating with wine glasses by the time I got there, Curly had an open beer bottle on the counter and was sipping from it as he worked.

" You can toss the wine in the cooler," he said, nodding to the screened-in porch adjoining the kitchen, where a dirty red and white cooler sat against the far wall.

" It's red wine," I said.

" Yeah, I know," Curly said. " I know you're supposed to drink it warm, but have you ever tried it cold? It's freakin great."

" That's insane," I said, laughing a little.

" Yeah, that's what Rhonda always said," Curly told me with a little grin. "She would have a fit if I – did you get in touch with her?"

" I got her machine," I said. "But I left a message with directions."

" Oh, she knows the place," Curly said with a laugh. " Hey, help yourself to a beer, anyway, if I can't convince you to ice that wine."

" Sounds good," I said sincerely, pushing my way out onto the porch. The structure was quite flimsy, with some thin green carpeting covering the floor, several holes in the screening, and an assortment of mismatched old lawn furniture placed around inside. As I crossed to the cooler I noticed Edward lying on a beach chair in the back right corner, playing his Gameboy with intense focus, little pixilated images reflected in the lenses of his glasses.

" Hey," I said nervously, my heart rate skyrocketing. I wondered if I should drink a beer in front of him. I paused for a moment, considering it.

" Hey," Edward muttered with disinterest, not moving his eyes from the Gameboy screen. I stood with my hands in my pockets and cleared my throat, trying to come up with something to say. I felt like I was drowning. Giving up on being a good role model, I relented and went for a beer.

" Can you open it with your teeth?" Edward asked as I pulled one from the ice.

" Um," I said, looking down at the screw-off top. "No."

" Oh," he said, disappointed. I felt like apologizing. If I was going to be the estranged father, I should at least be more of a badass, shouldn't I?

" Cause I saw this girl do that on TV," he muttered. " It was pretty awesome."

" What sort of television shows has your mother been letting you watch?" I asked before I could stop myself.

" Dog the Bounty Hunter," he answered dryly. I twisted the cap off of my beer with the edge of my shirt, making a mental note to tear into Helga about appropriate entertainment.

We had spoken on the phone that morning – she'd called me at six AM, in fact, waking me from a very pleasant dream about being ten years old again and playing baseball in the vacant lot in our old neighborhood. She'd been in the dream, actually, scowling from the sidelines.

"What in the hell," I'd muttered when I answered the phone and heard her voice on the other line.

" I couldn't sleep," she said. I could just picture her – lying on her back in bed, staring at the ceiling, phone pressed to her ear. She'd have that damn look on her face – the Helga 'I'm worried, Arnold, and I'm going to irritate you until I feel better' look. I'd gotten to know it well in those months after we found out she was pregnant. Back then, of course, I'd found it cute. It was still rather cute, in my vision, which made it all the more irritating.

" What can I do to help?" I asked sarcastically, not meaning for that to sound like a come-on at all, but naturally we were both silent for a few awkward seconds after I said it.

" This party Curly's having tomorrow," she said, "He told me you're coming."

" I'd like to see Edward again," I told her. " If you don't mind too terribly," I added, in a sour tone.

" No, I want you to see him again," she said quickly. "I just don't know if I'm ready . . . to tell him."

I'd started to argue with her, but then I realized I wasn't ready, either. Now, standing and watching at him play Gameboy on Curly's porch, I wondered if I'd ever be ready.

" Where's your mom?" I asked him.

" Getting ready," he said. "In the shower, I think."

I stood there in the middle of the porch like an idiot for a few moments longer, until Curly asked for my help in the kitchen. I went inside and helped him push vegetables and cubes of beef onto skewers.

" How's it going with Edward?" he whispered.

" Okay," I said, and then, " Awful. I feel weird around him. I feel like he hates me already. If I tell him I'm his – well, that will only give him extra license to think I suck."

" He's a great kid, though," Curly said. "He'll forgive you. Eventually."

" Helga's freaking out about the whole thing, I guess," I muttered, stabbing a mushroom ferociously.

" Yeah, she is," Curly said. " She kept me up til three last night, trying to work the whole thing out, mostly talking to herself. I think she feels really guilty for screwing things up."

" Sure," I muttered. "You mean she's sorry she got caught. She probably wanted me to go through my whole life never knowing about my kid."

" No, Arnold," Curly said. " I know what she did was awful, but she really did come down here for the purpose of telling you everything. She couldn't do it straight off, and then after you two slept together –"

" She told you about that!" I asked, annoyed.

" She said you told Rhonda," Curly said with a smirk.

" Well, I was drunk . . .," I mumbled, embarrassed. It seemed like I'd been drunk quite a lot since I'd come to California. But who could blame me? The few hours I'd spent sober had been excruciating.

" But really," Curly said. "I told her you were coming to the wedding, and she said she would come, too, and bring Edward with her. And divulge everything."

" I still can't believe – I just didn't think she was capable of something like this," I said.

" She's always been a bit manipulative, in case you hadn't noticed," Curly said, grinning. "And anyway, she said you were fooling around with someone else, and she figured she was doing you a favor by not saddling you with a kid."

" I wasn't, and – doing me a _favor_?" I said with a scoff, taking a swig of beer. "Manipulative is an understatement."

" You really weren't cheating on her?" Curly asked, looking at me squarely.

" No," I said, getting angry. " Curly, you've known me since we were five years old. Have I ever lied? About anything?"

" Not to me," he said with a shrug. " And I always did find that hard to believe, that you would fool around on her. But why would she make it up?"

" She didn't, entirely," I said with a sigh. " There was a misunderstanding. I don't blame her for thinking that – what she saw – was – well. The point is, she didn't trust me when I told her it was nothing."

" Oh, are we going over this old story again?" Helga asked, appearing in the doorway behind us. Curly and I both whirled around, kebobs in our hands. Helga grinned a little bit, folding her arms across her chest. Her hair was wet and she had the clean, humid smell of someone who had just taken a shower. She was barefoot, in a long black skirt and a little white t-shirt. I thought she looked pretty, and seemed rather deceptively innocent with that flowery soap scent and no makeup on.

" Well, you're the one who built three people's lives around that old story," I said, annoyed. She rolled her eyes.

" Keep your voice down," she said in a whisper, walking over to Curly and I. She kissed Curly on the cheek and then took my beer from the counter, finishing it in an unladylike gulp.

"That's mine," I said, making a face.

" I'll get you another one," she said coolly, making her way toward the screen porch. I looked at Curly and he shrugged. Almost against my will, I followed her out onto the porch.

Helga reached down into the cooler and pulled out another beer, and I stood watching her, my hands in my pockets. _God give me the strength to hate you_, I thought, as she gave me her trademark smirk and pulled up the hem of her skirt to twist off the cap.

" Mom, can't you open them with your teeth?" Edward asked, still punching the buttons on his Gameboy furiously, staring at the screen.

" Edward, that's disgusting," Helga said evenly, twisting the cap off and handing me the bottle. I drank from it, staring at her.

" He learned that from Dog the Bounty Hunter," I told her, raising an eyebrow. " Quality programming," I said, snarkily.

" It's just TV," Helga said with a shrug. " I watched professional wrestling when I was a kid, obsessively. Hell, my Dad even took me to a match once! It's actually one of my better childhood memories."

" Grandpa took you to a wrestling match?" Edward asked in disbelief, actually looking up from his game.

" Yep," Helga said, grinning.

" Grandpa?" I muttered, feeling a little queasy. " You – him – Big Bob?" I was trying to articulate the fact that I wasn't exactly thrilled that Big Bob Pataki had become an influence in my kid's life, which was especially distressing since I couldn't be around to explain to him what a bumbling jackass the man was.

Helga gave me a look that told me to shut up or she'd kill me. Despite being the polite and retiring fellow that I generally am, in the time I'd known her I had come to know that look quite well.

" Arnold didn't really get along with my Dad when we were kids," she said over her shoulder, in a high-pitched voice. Edward didn't seem to be paying attention, though, having turned back to his game.

" Who _did_?" I muttered.

" Edward, quit it with that thing," Helga said, changing the subject.

" How come?" he whined.

" Because you've been playing all day!" she said, walking over and snatching the Gameboy out of his hands.

" Mom, I was about to fight the boss!" Edward shouted, glaring at her.

" I'm the boss, and I'm not in the mood for fighting," Helga said, breezing out of the room with the Gameboy in hand. Edward folded his arms over his chest crossly as the screen door slammed behind her.

" God!" he huffed. " I hate her!"

" Heh," I said, uncomfortable. " Yeah."

" What do you mean, 'Yeah'?" Edward asked, scowling at me. I blanched.

" Um, nothing," I stuttered. " I just know how it is – how Helga can make you mad. She's kind of bossy. Sometimes."

" _Sometimes_?" Edward said, frowning. "She like, rules my life."

" That's what parents do, I guess," I said, feeling uncomfortable. "Not that I would know, really."

" Why not?" he asked.

" My parents – I mean – I was – I'm an orphan. They're dead," I clarified gracelessly.

" Oh," Edward said, looking at his hands. "What happened to them?" he asked, without hesitation.

" They disappeared in South America," I said, a lump rising in my throat. They left me. They left me. _She figured she was doing you a favor by not saddling you with a kid. _The abandoned and the emancipated would believe whatever they needed to. " They were supposed to be saving this village . . . and . . . they were doctors, you see . . .,"

" That sounds made up," Edward said, standing up from the lounge chair.

" Yeah, I know," I muttered. But it was the lie I had finally bought, like a kid in a candy store, opening my hands and letting my grandfather fill them with sweets. I wasn't sure if I'd ever completely believe it, or if I'd ever have the courage to really doubt it, either.

" My Mom told me the same thing about my Dad," he added dryly.

I felt my heart seize up and turn to ice. Oh. Shit. I remembered that hazy afternoon when Helga had told me everything – including what she'd told Edward about his father. I had two Jack and Cokes with that lunch. I couldn't be expected to remember . . . I couldn't . . . I couldn't . . . it was her fault for, what did she call it? Borrowing my tragedy?

I looked down at Edward, my face burning. I felt like I was suddenly standing naked. He stared at me.

" Edward . . .," I began, not knowing what to say. He waited.

" Hey, Arnold!" Curly shouted suddenly, throwing open the screen door and making me jump. I whirled around.

" Yeah?" I said, my voice an awkward squeak.

" Can you come in here and help Troy with the swordfish?" he asked. I had no idea what he was talking about, who Troy was, or what helping him with a swordfish might entail exactly. But I happily trotted inside, leaving Edward standing, confused, out on the porch.

I couldn't tell him. Helga and I had agreed – it was too early. Everything was still too surreal and fragile. So, instead, I held a giant, smelly fish while Curly's roommate poured sea salt over it. Behind us Helga hummed obliviously about, putting a tablecloth over Curly's dining room table, lighting candles, and sipping from a glass of the wine I'd brought. When Troy had the fish in the oven I walked over, picked up the open bottle and drank from it.

" Oh, charming," Helga said, breezing past me with a stack of plates. I peeked out onto the screen porch, but Edward had disappeared. I opened my mouth to say something to Helga, but I didn't want to admit to screwing up. And maybe Edward hadn't put one and two together, anyway . . .

Thirty minutes later the sun was going down, warm orange light pouring in through the windows of Curly's little house. We all sat down at the dining room table, Curly serving and Troy freshening our drinks. I sat next to Helga, and listened to her laugh merrily as Troy made fun of some California senator. Across from me sat Edward, making a face down at his swordfish and pushing the mushrooms on his plate around with a fork. He glanced up and saw me staring at him, and I dropped my eyes to my lap.

" I just want to thank you all for being here," Curly said, standing at the head of the table and raising his beer. " 'Specially my old friends from the far reaches of the globe, who are both playing hooky from work today."

" And me," Edward said. "I'm skipping school."

" Ah, yes," Curly said, grinning. " To Edward!"

We all drank, and Edward tried not to smile.

" I missed a geography test," he said, a little embarrassed. I had the impulse to jump across the table and hug him. My eyes actually filled at the corners – I could hardly get my mind around the fact that I'd had a hand in creating this person who was sitting across from me, but in moments it would dawn on me, and I'd feel amazed with myself, and proud of us both, just for existing. I wanted to tell him right then, I wanted to shout it across the table and celebrate.

" Can I have a beer?" he added sweetly, and Curly cracked up.

" No," Helga said sternly, giving him a look.

" Aww," he muttered, scraping his fork across his plate.

" You wouldn't like it, anyway," Troy told him. " I hated beer when I was a kid. The smell made me sick."

" I thought alcohol was disgusting," Helga said in agreement. " I tried one of my mom's 'smoothies' one morning and I almost puked."

" God, when did we all start drinking then?" I asked, looking around the table at our beers and glasses of wine. " I mean, what for?"

" You tell me," Helga said out of the corner of her mouth. " I think your first binge had something to do with a chick named Lila."

" Chick?" I said, glaring at her. " Aren't you some kind of liberal humanist? Ms. Creative Writing teacher? Nice vocabulary."

" I'm not being political tonight," Helga said simply, popping a piece of fish into her mouth.

" Oh yeah, Lila!" Curly said, as if remembering her fondly. " That's right. She dumped you right before prom, right? Senior year? Around the same time Rhonda dumped me?"

" Christ, that's depressing," someone muttered from the doorway, and we all turned to see Rhonda Lloyd, who had slunk in unnoticed, standing in a faded orange sundress and regarding us with placid amusement.

" Rhonda!" Curly said, beaming, not bothering to hide his enthusiasm.

" Still obsessed with your rejection – what is this now – ten years later? Twenty? Oh, who the hell knows. How old are we anyway?" she mused, walking into the room like she was working a runway.

" It's ten years," I said, with a mouthful, glancing at Edward.

" Arnold, darling, you were always so good at missing the point," Rhonda muttered, sliding a friendly hand through my hair before she came to a stop at the head of the table, where Curly was sitting. He tipped his head and looked up at her, in quiet awe. Still embarrassingly in love with her - some things never change.

" Hey Rhon," he said casually, " I had a dream about you last night."

" Was I clothed?" she asked coolly, picking a bell pepper from his plate and popping it in her mouth.

" We had five daughters," Curly said brightly. " In the dream."

" Jesus," Rhonda said with a little laugh, sitting in his lap. Curly grinned hugely. She looked around the table and nodded at Troy.

" Hey Rhonda," he said, " I saw that commercial the other day. The one with you and the cat."

" Oh, God," she moaned. " That thing gave me hives . . . I don't understand why they can't just use robots, or some kind of 3D animation. Live animals are so gauche."

" Spoken like a true fur coat owner," Helga chirped sarcastically.

" Yeah, eat up," Rhonda said, glaring at her. " I'm sure that fish is like, so much less important in the cosmic scheme of things than a few chinchillas."

" Rhonda, you always know how to brighten up a dinner party," I joked, looking at Edward. He was staring at her openly.

" Whose kid?" she asked, noticing his attention herself.

" Mine," Helga said. My lips parted automatically, but I shut them before I could make an ass of myself. I wanted to claim him, though. He was mine, too. Rhonda looked from me to Edward, obviously noticing the resemblance, but saying nothing. Smarter than she looks, that Rhonda.

" You were in Soccer Dog III!" Edward exclaimed, thrilled.

" Told you you'd see some celebrities in L.A.," Helga said, enjoying the title of Rhonda's feature film way too much.

" Cats, dogs," Rhonda said, shrugging it off. " What can I say, I've done it all." Helga burst into laughter and leaned over onto her plate, giggling incessantly, and I chewed my lip to keep myself from losing it. But Rhonda just smiled. Curly grinned, too, kissing her bare shoulder.

" Presumptuous, sir," she said, turning to look at him. He winked at her.

" Can I have your autograph?" Edward asked earnestly.

" I need a drink," Rhonda muttered.

When Rhonda had been sated with a vodka tonic and a plate of her own food, we began our dinner in earnest. The sun sank and disappeared, the bottles of wine emptied and the plates sat on the table covered in greasy fish scales and bones. I felt sorry for Troy, who had to endure our old stories of the neighborhood kids and high school dramas. Edward seemed fairly interested, though, slyly going through three glasses of soda while we laughed about the old days.

" Remember Sid?" Helga asked us, giggling, her cheeks pink. " God, that kid was nuts! Member when he thought Stinky was a vampire?"

We all died laughing, including Edward, who looked pleasantly absorbed in our memories.

" God, _Stink_y!" Rhonda said. " What ever happened to him? Remember when he was in that commercial for – what was it?"

" Yahoo soda!" Helga and I shouted in unison.

" Right," Rhonda said, rolling her eyes. " I was so jealous, even though they made him look like an idiot."

" I'm not sure where he is these days," Curly said, shaking his head. " Sid, either. Or Harold."

" The high school reunion should be coming up soon," I said. " I wonder who will come."

" Ugh, I won't," Rhonda moaned. " I can't think of a more pointless way to spend an evening."

" Oh, come on, we should go together," Curly said, grinning at her. " Blow 'em all away."

" No one would be surprised," Helga mumbled. " Trust me."

" How about you and Arnold, then?" Rhonda asked, with a wicked smirk. I blanched, feeling Edward's eyes on me.

" No – we're not –" Helga stuttered.

" Really?" Rhonda said. " Are you married, Helga?"

" No," she said, her face going from drunken pink to mortified red.

" Divorced, then?" Rhonda asked. " Been there, done that," she added, drinking, the ice cubes crushing against her lips as she tipped her head back.

Helga said nothing. I felt frozen. Edward was looking at me, at her, back to me – I could feel it, but I didn't dare meet his eyes.

" You should have married me," Curly told Rhonda plainly. I breathed a sigh of relief at the change of subject, and waited for her retort.

" I know," she said simply, surprising all of us.

After dinner, when Curly and Helga were at the kitchen sink washing dishes and laughing, I found myself alone in the living room with Edward. Troy had gone off to work the night shift at a rental warehouse, and Rhonda was on the back porch having a heated cell phone conversation with her agent. I put my feet up on Curly's smudged glass coffee table and looked at Edward, who was curled up on the other side of the couch, staring at the television.

It was something about the way his blond hair flopped onto the pillow he was leaning against. Or the slant of his glasses, or the way he folded his hands over his elbows, protective and guarded, just like his mother had when she was a little girl. Something made me speak.

" Listen," I began. I could hear the slur in my voice. Okay, I was drunk. So what? When else was I ever going to be able to get these impossible words past my lips? Helga would never have the courage to admit how wrong she was, to tell her son about her careful lies, her selfish plotting. And I didn't want him to know that side of his mother, either. So it was up to me, and if I was going to do it, I knew I had to do it right then, before I could give it too much thought, before I could cave in fear and remain anonymous forever.

He looked at me. There was a kind of bored annoyance on his face, but something accusatory, too. Something about the way he studied my face made me pause for a moment; it was as if he was daring me to tell him what I knew. But I only took a breath and plunged into the icy truth.

" Your mother and I haven't been completely honest with you," I told him.

He blinked behind his glasses, waiting.

" I'm actually your father," I blurted out. I wanted to sound casual, bemused, comforting. As I spoke I realized it wouldn't hit me until later, what I had just said. In the moment it felt clear and calm: a simple fact. But like every drunk knows, even as he's tipping back another, the sick feeling will rise eventually. I felt it far off, though I managed to give Edward a relaxed half-smile.

" I know," he muttered, looking down at the pillow he was now hugging, picking at a frayed thread. His glasses slipped down his nose a bit. It took me a moment to understand what he had just told me.

" You know?" I asked, incredulous.

" Yeah," he said, barely audible now, still not looking at me. He seemed terribly ashamed; I couldn't blame him.

" Your mother told you?" I asked, reeling. But why would she not let me know? Why had she been acting so calmly all night, as if nothing had changed?

" No," he said in a sigh. " I could just tell."

" How?" I asked, though I knew exactly what he meant. The first time I saw him – though I wasn't willing to put the pieces together until I heard him call Helga his mother – I had known. You don't run into something so familiar without being namelessly perturbed, conscious of the connection or not.

" Cause you look like me," he said, looking up at me, as if to check and make sure this still held true. " And the way Mom's been acting. And the way you act," he added, with a hint of disapproval.

" Oh, right," I mumbled, putting my hands on my knees and staring blankly ahead, out the picture window above Curly's old TV set. A show about sharks was playing, the volume down low. Neither of us looked at the screen.

" You're smart," I declared, feeling my words fall flat. A slow, nauseous panic began creeping its way up through my middle, toward my throat. In the kitchen I heard a glass break, and Rhonda's giggly laugh. I thought of Helga in there, still oblivious. I realized I wanted her with me, to explain. How to explain, how to ever explain, without destroying her, or me, or all three of us?

" Where were you before?" Edward asked quietly. The worst question. The only one that mattered.

" I was in South America," I said without thinking, feeling something sad and inherited pass through me, some genetic guilt, or ironic joke. " I was lost. Like your mother told you."

A palpable understanding passed between my son and I, there on the couch. It was like nothing I'd ever experienced before – I'd never been so wordlessly, resentfully close to someone. I looked at him and saw myself, orphan boy, abandoned again, left in the dark.

" I don't believe you," he said in a wounded whisper.

" You're smart," I told him again. " Smarter than I was."

He got up and walked purposefully away. I didn't try to stop him. In all honesty I was glad to be alone. My stomach lurched, the room tilted. Oh, God. _What have I done_? What did they do to me? _They were doctors_. There were more important things at hand. We all believed what we wanted. We all turned out alright in the end, without each other.

Right?

Somehow I ended up in a bathroom, the tile cold on my knees even through my wool pants. But I was sweating. I coughed and spit into the bowl but couldn't seem to throw up. With my head on the rim of the toilet, I unbuttoned my shirt. _Where am I, what's happening?_ No, I didn't want to think about that. I'd think about that tomorrow.

I found myself in a bed next, someone's bed. The sheets were soft, dirty jersey, and reminded me of my college dorm bed. My sad little dorm room, me and my Henry James novels, reading them half-asleep and thinking of Helga. My Henry James Daisy, my Fitzgerald Daisy – all the impossible, terrible girls who got away. They were Helga; I saw her in all of them. _Jesus he was a handsome man_. I didn't have anything to name for her, so I saw her walking through those pages. And our son, oh God. I hadn't even known enough to miss him.

I slept – or, it was something like sleep, but dreamless and stolid, like being wrapped in black felt. I felt the world tilt, the bed sway, felt myself rolling toward some newly introduced force. This was how I woke up, slowly, my eyes focusing on a figure sitting on the bed I was sleeping in, twisting my weight downward. As my eyes adjusted I only saw a shadow darker than the room itself looking down at me, pulling at me like a black hole. I blinked, my stomach groaned, I tried to remember where I was.

" Helga?" I asked the darkness, questing, wondering which forgettable bedmate would slap me for coming out of a stupor with the name of my child bride on my lips. But then I saw her giving me that look, that threatening glare, and I knew it had to be her, really her, old Helga Pataki. What was this? The prom? Rhonda's party? My life sat in the back of my skull like an oozing mass, temporarily liquefied, and I willed it to stay that way. I reached down to adjust my tie, my jacket, and found that I was shirtless.

" I had an awful dream," I said, blinking her into focus. " I think."

" You told him," she said, her voice a sharp chill. The angry Helga voice. It still scared the hell out of me. With her reminder of my earlier drunken actions I crashed back down to earth, my midsection gurgling loudly and my forehead breaking out into a sweat.

" I didn't mean to," I said quickly, coming back to life. My head surged, then pounded, and I began to hear something like a whine behind my eyes. " I don't feel good," I told her, still a bit disoriented. I reached for her and she grabbed my arms, shook me. My vision flashed red and then her eyes were close to mine, furious.

" Damn you, you sneaky son of a bitch!" she hissed. " I wasn't ready for that! He wasn't! And you – what did you say? He won't even speak to me. He's morose. Are you drunk?"

" Not anymore," I said, squinting. " Listen, let's fight tomorrow. I feel like I'm going to throw up."

She let go of my arms, sat back and regarded me with a scrutinizing eye.

" What did you say to him?" she asked, deflating. She was too tired to be truly angry with me. We were all too tired to develop fully formed reactions to any of this – we needed to crawl into a king sized bed and sleep for weeks, the three of us. Maybe when we woke we'd have dreamt our apologizes – hazy, absurd reconciliations were probably the best we could hope for.

" I told him the South America story," I said, leaning back against the pillows and pinching the bridge of my nose. " You know the one. Have you got an aspirin?"

" No," she said weakly, her shoulders drooping. She stared off into the distance, distracted, lost.

" Where are we?" I asked, looking around. It was a dingy room, with a blanket thrown over the dirty windows and falling down on one side, revealing pale moonlight, which lit a pile of laundry crumpled on the floor near the small twin bed I was lying on.

" Troy's room," Helga muttered. " He's at work."

We were both silent for a moment, unwilling to go further. There would be more shouting, more bitter accusations. Neither of us had the energy.

" Why did you leave me?" I asked weakly, without meaning to. My head was full of rolling pain, but I felt outside of my body, surreal.

Helga scoffed.

" Do we really have to go through this again?" she asked. " You know why."

I saw her shoulders sink. She was coming more sharply into focus, there in the dark. She was trying not to look at me, I could tell. I reached for her and she leaned away.

" I wanted you to be perfect," she finally said in a near-whisper. She looked at me.

" You weren't," she reminded me, attempting to be cold but curling at the edges.

" I was in love with you," I told her, feeling nineteen again. " You must have known."

Helga didn't say anything. She seemed to crumple inward, shrink further toward her own center, and I felt like I might lose her for the last time if I didn't reach for her. I scooted forward under the jersey sheets of Troy's bed and laid my aching head on her shoulder. I felt her sigh.

" You're sweaty," she said, without moving. I lifted up my head and looked at her. She turned to me, her nose touching mine. Her eyes were watery.

" You didn't tell him what a monster I am, did you?" she asked, her voice breaking. She dipped her head and put her hands over her face before I could answer.

" I didn't tell him you lied to me," I said, putting an arm around her. " No."

" Why not?" she asked from behind her hands, swallowing a sob.

" I don't know," I said thoughtfully, sincerely. " It's not quite forgiveness. Maybe more like resignation."

" But what are we resigning to?" she asked, looking up at me.

I wiped her cheeks dry. As I did it I thought about all the times she must have cried alone, without me, because of me, in spite of me. All I could do was be grateful for the chance to finally comfort her.

Though it was, perhaps, irrelevant, I found myself wanting to kiss her then, and I did. As our lips touched I blanched at the thought of my breath, but then figured she deserved it, or expected as much, or _should_ have a cold, hard taste of the real Arnold for once. Not her ideal golden boy, or her invented betrayer, just flawed and ridiculous me, saint-like only in my willingness to offer one Helga G. Pataki endless reprieve.

" Stop," she breathed, pulling back after giving in for a moment. " You're drunk," she said, wrenching my arm off of her shoulder. I sat back, dejected.

" What do you want me to do?" I asked, at a loss. " Just tell me."

" Why are you willing to do what I ask after everything I've done to you?" she asked, glaring at me, as if appalled by my loyalty. Or, to be fair, my abject stupidity.

" I'm not, I'm just curious," I spat back, irritated and still in a good deal of pain, my temples throbbing.

" I don't know what I want," she said, standing and pulling her fingers through her messy hair. I hated the fact that the distance she was putting between us depressed me – I'd been dully hoping that she'd flop down onto the bed next to me and nurse me back to health until morning. I had a fond memory of climbing through her window one night just after we'd found out she was pregnant – oh God, that was the day I'd asked her to marry me. The day we'd gotten married, too – or was it? My memories slurred together – the whole thing, Helga and I – it couldn't just have been a couple of weeks, could it have? No, it was months – or only days?

" Do you ever think about our wedding day?" I blurted out, perhaps in a bumbling effort to bring her back down to me.

She stopped in the midst of her pacing about the room and looked at me as if I was mad, as if I'd invented the whole thing.

" I – I can't talk to you about that right now!" she exclaimed, shaking her head.

" Well what did you come in here to talk about, exactly?" I asked with a scoff, getting frustrated.

" Certainly not our wedding," she muttered to herself, not looking at me. " I think I came in here to scream at you, or possibly to physically attack you. Somehow I've lost my nerve. Or my inertia, at least."

" One of us had to tell him eventually," I snapped. " I'm sure you're secretly glad it was me and not you," I added coldly.

" Why would I --!"

" Because it was hard, and you were never willing to do what was right, what was inevitable, if it was hard," I said, too loudly, and getting angrier than I'd intended. " You'd rather take the easy way out. You'd rather just run away from your problems and let other people sort them out when it's least convenient for everyone but you."

" Oh, that's rich!" she hissed, glaring at me. " You lecturing me about running from my problems? What do you suggest I do, drink them all away like you do?"

" What the hell -"

" You're an alcoholic," she said, swallowing something that might have been a sob, or maybe a scream, I couldn't be sure. " And I did this to you," she said, shaking her head, her voice wavering in earnest now. " You were – maybe not perfect – but – not this bad off, before me."

" Don't flatter yourself," I snarled before I could break down. There was a caving feeling in my chest – it felt like my whole body was hell bent on betraying me, breaking down a little more with each attack she leveled.

" Whatever I am, none of it's because of you," I told her, a lie I thought she roundly deserved. " Fortunately for me you decided to cut yourself out of my life after a few months, and despite the shit you put me through you don't exactly get credit for ruining my life, as much as you might like it."

It was quite possibly the cruelest thing I'd ever said to anyone, and I expected her to turn on her heel and flee the room immediately afterward. But instead she stood and stared at me, discreetly brushing a tear from the corner of her eye.

" Then what the hell happened to you, Arnold?" she asked, with genuine sadness that nearly flattened me.

" To be cliché," I said, unflinching. " My parents."

" Then I guess Edward's doomed," she said, starting for the door.

" You made sure of that," I said, topping everything that had come before. I heard her choke on a renegade sob as she flew out of the room and down the hall. Then the slam of a door, and it was done.

My ears buzzed with the new silence in the room, and with the incredible energy that was left behind there, the remnants of two people trying to destroy each other. I tried to tell myself she was begging for it, that she'd always been that way – she loved to push me as far as she could before I finally snapped, and then she would wilt dramatically, suddenly a delicate flower, as if my long suffering wrath was completely unprovoked.

I need a drink, I thought instantly, shaking from the effort of being so hateful. I stood up and teetered on my unsteady legs, swallowing. She was wrong about me, of course. She didn't know anything about me. I wasn't – I didn't have a drinking problem. What the hell did she know? I was only drowning my sorrows because of her.

I scowled to myself as I stumbled toward the hall. I decided upon a course of action as I headed toward the kitchen – I would get blitzed so that I would be able to sleep, to forget this fight, the things we'd just said to each other. That was step one. Then I'd sleep it off, and at the crack of dawn I'd disappear. Back to New York, back to normalcy. I couldn't wait.

Except I would never get away clean, now that I knew about Edward. She'd found a way to permanently hang on to a good chunk of my heart, and it didn't even have anything to do with her. Or it did, because we'd made him together. The thought of it made me trip and fall against the doorframe of Curly's kitchen, and when I looked up I saw Rhonda, wearing only a tank top and a skimpy pair of underwear, sitting at the table and smoking a cigarette. She gave me a look as I walked into the kitchen, and leaned back in her chair, unembarrassed and bored.

" You're awake," she said, tapping her cigarette against an ashtray on the table in front of her. " Sort of," she added as I fell heavily into a chair beside her.

" What are you doing out here?" I asked, willing myself not to look too closely at her. Only Rhonda – only Rhonda Lloyd would be wandering though this house in her underwear in the middle of my nervous breakdown.

" Smoking," she said plainly. " Did you just piss Miss Helga off or something? I saw her stomping down the hall."

" That kid," I muttered, rubbing my eyes. " Her kid – he's mine."

" Duh," Rhonda said, laughing darkly. I looked up at her.

" So was I the last goddamn person to find out?" I asked, turning to scan the kitchen counters for any available booze. I spotted a half-empty bottle of red wine sitting open near the sink, and stood up to retrieve it.

" I have no clue," Rhonda said, taking a long drag. " It was obvious to me as soon as I saw the three of you together," she said, blowing smoke from the corner of her mouth.

" It was a mistake," I muttered to myself, drinking from the bottle.

" You mean _he_ was a mistake," she said, and I looked up at her with a glare.

" I don't regret it," I insisted.

" Sure."

" What the hell are you doing here?" I asked her, the whole situation seeming suddenly very ridiculous.

" What are any of us doing here?" she muttered, smiling to herself. She looked up at me with a wicked glint in her eye.

" It was in my house, wasn't it?" she asked. " My mother found the two of you asleep in the bathtub after the party – what was it, some drunken thing?"

" Something like that," I said, my heart dropping through me like a stone. Maybe Helga was right about me. It was still her fault, though I'd never give her the pleasure of knowing. I drank again from the bottle.

" You're a mess," Rhonda said in a sigh, smashing her cigarette into the ashtray. " I thought you'd end up the president. At least a minister or something."

" I'm too young to be president," I mumbled, as if that was all that was stopping me. " And I'm not religious."

" You know what I mean," Rhonda said, pulling one knee up to her chest and regarding me critically. And I did know. Great expectations, and all that.

" I grew up," I said. " People change."

" No, I don't think so," Rhonda said wistfully, hugging her knee. " None of us have, really. Me and Curly, you and goddamn Helga. We're still chasing after each other."  
" Helga and I aren't chasing each other," I said, looking down at the bottle. " We're running away from each other."

" Then what the hell are you doing here?" she asked with a scoff. Before I could answer I heard someone padding down the hall behind me, and turned to see Curly walking into the kitchen, yawning and wearing only sweatpants.

" We were just talking," I said hurriedly, feeling awkward about getting caught alone with Rhonda while she was writhing around in her underwear. Curly and Rhonda looked at each other and laughed.

" Don't flatter yourself, Arnold," Rhonda said, standing and sliding an arm through Curly's.

" Are you alright, man?" Curly asked, glancing at the bottle in my hand. " Maybe you should take it easy."

" Fuck off," I muttered, humiliated. I stalked out of the kitchen with the bottle still in my hand, pushing out onto the screen porch and then through another screen door, down the stairs that led from the porch to Curly's backyard.

I walked blindly through the streets behind Curly's house until I found the beach. I headed toward the ocean until my legs gave out, and landed in the sand, some wine sloshing out onto my hand as I fell. I drank and glared out at the indifferent waves. Fucking Curly, thinking he has the right to tell me what to do. Some goddamn nerve. How many times did I save his crazy ass when we were kids, or when we were teenagers and he was on the verge of getting sent off to a mental hospital?

Because that was what I did: I saved people. Back then. It got old, that's all. I never got any thanks, any reward, any feeling of satisfaction or completion. There was always someone else who needed saving, and every victory just left me feeling hollow again. Maybe it was genetic – my parents were never able to get enough of it. The only one they didn't bother to save was me.

I thought of Edward. It really was sickly poetic, the way I'd passed my own tragedy down without even meaning to. Goddamn South America, right? As if it mattered where they were, where I'd been, who knew what, who'd lied, who'd had the best intentions. All that mattered was that we were both abandoned, he and I. And I could see no recourse but to leave him all over again.

He's better off without me, I thought as I passed out, my ears filling with sand, the remainder of the wine spilling as it tumbled out of my hand. I stared up the sky before the blackout took me, saw no stars, only hazy darkness lit dimly by the lights of the city behind me. I thought of my parents, how disappointed they'd be if they decided to return to me and found out what I'd become.

Yeah, they were all better off without me. Arnold who was sacrificed for some far off villagers, for Helga's pride, for Edward's innocence. I'd just lie on the beach and let them all get on with their lives. My eyes closed and I waited for the world to move purposefully around me: the disenchanted former savior, left to fend for himself.

When I opened my eyes it was early morning, I was staring into a man's dirty face. He was unshaven and he smelled unbelievably bad, but his eyes were bright and alert, and he jumped back a little in surprise when I stirred, coughing.

" Jesus, I thought you were dead," he said, sitting back and looking me up and down.

" I think I am," I moaned, trying to sit up and wincing as my head pounded with a tremendous pain. My mouth was dry and every muscle in my body felt sore. And I was covered in sand. I rolled onto my side and coughed, tried to remember how the hell I'd got there.

" Listen, man, you got anything on you?" the man asked, and I looked up him and frowned, confused.

" What?"

" Give me your wallet," he said suddenly, wiping something out of his back pocket. Before I could move I realized it was a gun, and that he had it pointed at my face. He glanced around nervously, licked his lips, and looked back to me, waiting.

" I, uh," I stuttered, trying to stand.

" Stay down!" he shouted, agitated now. He glanced around again, then pushed the gun against my forehead. " Give it to me, man, I don't want to hurt you."

" Alright, alright," I mumbled, reaching my for back pocket. I fumbled with my wallet, pulling it open.

" Just give it to me!" he shouted, snatching it out my hands.

" Wait!" I shouted, as he started to go. " Can I at least have my license?" I begged, moaning and rubbing my temples.

" W-what?" the thief asked nervously, pointing the gun at me again.

" My license, it's a pain in the ass getting a new one," I moaned, not sure why the hell I was speaking, where I was or what was going on.

" What are you talking about?" the guy demanded, looking around and backing away now.

" Forget it," I said in a sigh, falling onto my back again and staring up at the gray morning sky. " Just take it all."

I looked to my left and saw that he was already gone, tearing off down the beach. I watched him go, and rubbed my head, feeling for the place where he'd pressed the gun.

Not prepared to form any coherent thoughts about what was so far the most bizarre morning that had ever dawned in my life, I simply stood up and stumbled through the sand toward the road. I wasn't sure whether or not I should feel relieved that I wasn't dead, either from exposure or a high tide or a bullet between the eyes. At the moment I might have preferred an early grave to the prospect of trying to find my way back to Curly's house.

I considered going straight to the airport and leaving. I had one suitcase that I'd left in Curly's living room, and there was nothing particularly important inside. But I wanted to at least say goodbye to Edward, even if it was for the last time. I doubted Helga would ever let me see much of him, and I didn't have the heart to get into a legal battle with her. She'd dictated the terms of my life thus far, and I might as well let her continue.

Feeling pathetic, sandy and sore, I eventually found Curly's little house, and made my way up the back stairs to the screened-in porch. I prayed that no one would be awake yet – it was early, probably not even six AM yet. I went in through the kitchen, and as I passed the living room on the way to Troy's empty room, where I was planning on having a shower before blowing out of there, I heard the television. I knew by the familiar, unchanging sound of morning cartoons who was in there watching it.

I stopped as I was passing the room and looked in at Edward. He was wearing a t-shirt and pajama pants, curled up on his side and staring blankly at the TV set. He looked up at me without surprise, as if he had been expecting me to walk in, covered in sand and wearing the same clothes I'd had on the night before. He sat up sleepily and blinked at me, adjusting his glasses and sniffling.

" What happened to you?" he asked, his voice intentionally flat. An old Helga trick, he was as practiced at feigning indifference as she'd been at his age.

" I got mugged," I said slowly, just beginning to understand it as the words left my mouth. " Some bum stole my wallet."

" Why didn't you beat him up?" he asked, staring at me.

" Cause," I started, squinting around the room, at a loss. " I guess cause I was tired." I looked at Edward. " I'm kind of a disappointing guy," I told him, echoing what he was clearly thinking.

I waited for him to come up with some smartass retort, to tell me that he'd figured that out on his own, but he only looked back to the television, folding his arms into his lap. I stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment before moving to the couch and sitting down beside him. We both watched the cartoons in silence for a few minutes – a robot girl was sliding around in roller skates on the screen.

" Why didn't you ever try to find me?" Edward asked when the commercials came on, half-turning toward me. I looked at him – in the background, an announcer was shouting about two-for-one pizza.

" I'm a disappointing guy," I said again.

" But," he said, after a pause. " My mom told me you weren't."

I didn't know how to respond to that, and before I could launch into a tirade about Helga's many lies, I stood and walked out of the room. I felt like the biggest asshole in the universe, but I figured he might as well get used to it, watching me walk away. It wasn't like they were going to move to New York, and I wasn't going to follow them to Seattle. It wasn't like Helga and I had ever been willing to concede to anything for each other.

But it was all I could think about it as I stood under a hot shower in Troy's tiny bathroom. Why didn't I go and find him? Why didn't I chase Helga down? A few phone calls were all I ever managed – I could have tried harder. Maybe she really did give me want I wanted, what I wouldn't have been able to admit to myself that I needed. I got to go to college, I got to have a career, a life.

Some life. I was already dreading going back to New York, back to work, back to my apartment, my after dinner drinks, the pointless people I filled my days with. It seemed terribly empty now, but it was all I had.

When I finished showering I called a taxi, then dressed hurriedly, drying my hair with a soggy towel. I stopped in front of Troy's bathroom mirror and peered at myself: I still looked like hell, but slightly more human after the shower. I was still picking sand out of my ears, but I'd taken a small handful of aspirin, and my headache was fading. I told myself I was going to be okay. I'd get coffee at the airport, I'd sleep on the plane. I'd go back to work tomorrow and forget any of this ever happened. Possibly with the aid of a week's worth of two martini lunches, but I didn't care. Helga could be right about me, it didn't matter. I just wanted to forget.

I walked out into the living room to get my suitcase, keeping my eyes down, not wanting to have any closure with my estranged family, but knowing I needed it, one way or another. Helga was sitting on the stairs in Curly's foyer when I got out there, a cup of coffee cradled in her lap. She looked up at me.

" I'm going back to New York," I said, clearing my throat, trying to be businesslike.

" I know," she said quietly. " I don't want you to go," she added, surprising me. But I wouldn't let her throw me off track – this was her bait and switch routine. She'd pull me in with weepy interludes, then smash me back into place with delight. I had no reason to think this was ever going to change.

" Here's my number in New York," I said, reaching into the front pocket of my suitcase for a business card, not meeting her eyes as I handed it to her.

" I'm not going to call you, Arnold," she said, after staring at it for a moment. I felt the familiar drop-kick to the stomach: Helga's one-two punch, I'd seen it coming but it still hurt.

" Do you have a pen?" she asked, and I went again to my suitcase, handed her one. She turned my card over and scribbled on the back of it, handed it back to me.

" Making me do all the hard work, right?" I asked her coldly as I took it back from her, looking at the contact information she'd written there.

" I don't really expect you to do anything," she said, staring down into her coffee. " I just – maybe you could send him birthday cards? It's January second."

I couldn't take any more, so I turned to go. My taxi was just pulling into the driveway, and I thanked God for my first lucky break in awhile – at least I'd be able to make a quick getaway. I stormed out onto the porch, figuring I'd call and thank Curly after I got home, and maybe even apologize for telling him to fuck off, though he probably just had a good laugh about it. As I was heading down the stairs in a huff something caught my eye, and I stopped at the bottom and looked back up to see Edward sitting on the porch near the front door.

" You going back to South America?" he asked me dryly, shattering what was left of my heart.

" Yes," was all I could manage to get out without my voice cracking. I turned from him and climbed into the taxi. As we drove away I didn't look back.

I thought of him, though, sitting there on the porch, watching me go. My eyes filled like they did when I was three years old, watching my mother's auburn hair bouncing as she jogged to the car that took my parents away from me. I saw it in her step, even as a kid, a sort of eagerness to get closer to her freedom. I wondered if he was able to see it in my gait, too, and for the first time since I realized what really happened I could sympathize a little bit with my parents.

But more with him. Because even as I was riding away, the roles reversed now, I was still the orphan boy, too, abandoned all over again, this time by myself.

A/N: First of all, while I'd definitely cop to the fact that I planned on finishing this sooner, and while I'm really sorry to make everyone wait, this is just kind of the nature of this story, for some reason. I started it in 2001, when I was a sophomore in college. I'm in grad school now, my life and writing has changed in many ways, but I'm still attached to this story; it's still important to me to finish it. I still love it, and I don't regret taking a long, long time to finish it, because I think it's been beneficial.

The reason this segment took so long, outside of me just being busy with school, work and everything else, was that scene with Helga and Arnold in the bedroom just after he tells Edward he's his father. I knew they had to fight, but I got stuck just before they got upset with each other; I kept opening what I had and re-reading it, but nothing new would come. It was like the characters didn't want to go there yet, heh. But last night the vitriol spilled out at last, and I finished the chapter this morning.

I have another writing commitment that I have to start on October 1st, but I'm going to finish this story before then. There is only one chapter left, and I know exactly what is going to happen (I think – characters can always surprise you at the last minute), so all that's left is to put it down on paper. You guys have no reason to believe my promises at this point, but I really am going to do it, honest:)


	11. Find You Inside

11.

"Ever since I met you on a cloudy Monday, I can't believe how much I love the rain."

--Chantal Kreviazuk

I arrived back in New York before sundown, got off the plane and picked up my luggage, then dragged myself out of the airport to get a taxi. I was so tired I wasn't seeing straight, and I wasn't looking forward to getting home and calling my bank to cancel all of my stolen cards. And writing to my insurance company for a new card, and reapplying for a license – the errands were piling up in my head like bricks against the back of my temples, and the headache I'd had since Helga had dropped her bombshell was threatening to completely overwhelm me.

It was rush hour by the time I was heading toward the city in a taxi with a particularly slimy backseat, and I put my head against the dirty window and shut my eyes, wishing I could disappear. I wanted to get out of the traffic, get out of the cab as soon as possible, but I didn't particularly want to get back to my apartment, where work that had piled up around my ears while I was away was waiting.

I folded my arms over my chest and tried to sleep while the taxi jerked unsteadily through the traffic, the driver muttering obscenities to himself as he erratically changed lanes. I couldn't sleep, of course, and when I closed my eyes I saw Edward sitting, dejected, on Curly's front porch, watching me go. Or Helga hunched on the staircase, telling me, crushed and cynical, to try and send birthday cards. I wanted to stuff my fingers in my ears, as if I could shut out the sound of my regrets. But were they regrets? I was happy to get away. Wasn't I?

I needed a drink, badly. I'd wanted to have one, or two, or five, on the plane, but every time I raised my hand to call for a stewardess I had gotten a vision of Helga standing furious in Troy's dark bedroom, calling me an alcoholic. I hated that her skewed conception of me could still sting, could still make me second guess myself.

When the taxi finally pulled up to my apartment building the sun had disappeared entirely. I paid the driver and climbed out, fumbled to get my suitcase inside the revolving door. Inside I nodded to the security guard who manned the marble lobby. He smiled at me.

" Did you have a good trip, Mr. --"

" Yes, fine," I answered quickly, cutting him off and hurrying past to call the elevator. I thought about all the people at work who would ask me the same question tomorrow, wondering why I had to stay an extra day for a friend's wedding. My stomach churned at the thought of coming up with some excuse – devious as I might have become, I was still a shitty liar.

When I got up to my place, when I'd locked the door and dropped my suitcase on its side in the foyer, I had to consciously instruct myself not to burst into tears. I chewed on my tongue, breathed through my mouth, walked into the kitchen. I put my hands on the bar that looked out into the rest of the apartment, bracing myself.

Okay, I really needed a drink.

I made myself a vodka tonic, and the sound of the ice cubes clinking against the glass filled me with a guilty sort of relief. I went to the living room windows: floor to ceiling numbers that looked out over the city. All the lights were on against the darkness – I looked for the Brooklyn Bridge, the road home. I raised my glass to it, scoffing.

" To the old neighborhood," I muttered to myself, staring in its direction. The place where I met Helga, the source of all my problems. Or not – maybe it was that village in South America, maybe they were to blame. I could always take the old fashioned route and blame myself for everything that had gone wrong, of course. I drank to that.

I went reluctantly to my answering machine, and saw that I had five messages. The first was from my dry cleaner. I let out my breath, relieved. The second, however, was from Julia.

" Hey, asshole," she sneered at me from the machine. " Just wanted to tell you that I'm coming over Monday to get my key back. Thanks for nothing."

Okay. I drew my breath in: I could handle that. I was prepared for her to hate me, and I couldn't blame her. The next message was from my friend Dalton at work.

" Arnold!" he shouted. " Hey, what the hell happened in California, man? People are talking – did you get married? Julie's pissed, dude! Call me!"

I groaned. The next message was from my boss, passive-aggressively suggesting that my taking an extra day off was not going to be smiled upon. The last message was Julia again:

" Arnold," she snapped. " I came over today – where the hell are you? I need my key back, you dick – you better bring it to the office tomorrow."

" Right," I muttered in response, draining my drink and going to the kitchen to make another. On the way there I dug into my pocket and found Julia's key on my ring, slid it off and placed it on the kitchen counter so I would remember it in the morning. So much for dating girls from the office; they were all going to hate me now. Not that I could imagine dating again, ever. Not that there was any point to any of it.

At some point that evening I passed out on the couch watching the news, and when I woke up it was 3 AM and there was a half-empty bag of Doritos lying next to me. I ate a few chips, staring at the muted television, then stumbled into the bedroom.

Unable to get back to sleep, I laid on my back and thought about Helga and Edward: my family, just as long-lost as the only other family I had left in the world. If my parents were even alive, which they probably weren't. Maybe I was only comforting myself with thoughts of their intentional abandonment, to stave off more disturbing images of a fiery plane crash, of devoted parents whose last thoughts were of me.

Edward would certainly think the worst of me. I'd given him every reason to. And yet I was lying there thinking of him, and couldn't imagine not having him in the back of my mind ever again.

Eventually I did have a short and fitful sleep, and I dreamed of South America. Only it wasn't a country full of mountains and jungles after all – it was a basement waiting room, and I sat there in an plastic chair beside my parents, who hadn't aged. We were uncomfortable together, the three of us, and we tried not to make eye contact under the bad florescent lighting.

" It can't be much longer now," my mother said in a sigh, just before I woke up.

I opened my eyes and sat up in bed. I didn't have to be at work for two hours, but I knew I wouldn't be able to get back to sleep. I turned and looked out the windows behind my bed, out at the city. A city full of people who didn't sleep. I sighed and stood listlessly, went for the shower.

After dressing for work I went into my kitchen to poke around for something to eat, but all I found in the fridge was week old Chinese leftovers and various condiments. I had no bread for toast, no eggs, nothing. I decided to go down to the bakery on the corner, get something special and super-sweet, like a big piece of coffee cake dripping with icing. I had a feeling I'd be treating myself for awhile, trying to make up for the punishment of the past weekend.

But as I headed downstairs I knew I was kidding myself. Yeah, that weekend had been hard as hell, tiring and frustrating and ultimately fruitless. But I wouldn't trade it for anything. I wouldn't trade piece of mind for knowing about my son, for having seen him and talked to him, even if all I could do was disappoint him. And as much as I resented her, or tried to, I had loved being around Helga again, in moments. Even when she was driving me crazy she at least made me feel alive again.

It didn't matter, of course. Maybe I was glad I did it, but that kind of emotional roller coaster was not something that I could dream of sustaining. No, Helga and I were better off in short spurts; we'd never been able to handle each other, for better or worse, for very long. And Edward – well. She would take care of him. I didn't know anything about being a father. I'd never had one; as good as my grandfather had done filling in, he was no replacement for my real father. That was why I was messed up, I told myself as I made my way into the bakery. Maybe someday, when Edward was older, we'd get together for drinks and talk the whole thing out, come to some sort of understanding. But he was just a kid, and couldn't handle any kind of explanation of the ridiculous mess of my history with Helga. Better to let me be the bad guy for now.

I ordered a large coffee and two sticky cinnamon buns, and waited at the counter after paying. Behind me, a very pregnant woman stepped up to order. When I saw her, I felt a sort of pang in my gut, thinking of Helga, how I never got to see her like this, how I thought she'd lost our baby because of me.

" Arnold?" someone said, breaking my trance. I looked around, confused. The voice sounded familiar – then I realized it was the pregnant lady who was speaking to me. I looked at her, trying to place her face. It only took a few seconds, and when it came to me I had to take two steps backward in shock.

" Ruth?" I asked, disbelieving. She grinned – the same wicked smile I remembered - amused at my surprise.

" Yeah, it's me," she said, laughing. " You're thinking I got fat, right? Well, I have a good excuse."

" I gathered," I said with a nod, looking down to her protruding belly again.

" Hard to believe, right?" she said, paying the cashier and moving over to stand beside me. " I wasn't really the type, back when you knew me."

" Yeah, I remember that distinctly," I muttered angrily, thinking of her lectures on how I should tell Helga to get rid of the baby.

" What can I say, people change," she said, smirking.

" I guess so," I said, uncomfortable.

" This is actually my second," she said, looking down and placing a hand on her stomach. " I have a two year old daughter."

" You're married, then?" I asked, presumptuous and too forward, but given my history with Ruth I figured trying to be polite would be laughable.

" Yep, for five years," she said proudly, smiling. " He's an older gent. You know me, I was too sophisticated for men my age." She winked at me and I scoffed.

" Yeah, something like that," I said.

" How about you?" she asked as we gathered up our drinks and pastries and moved toward a table. She sat down first and I joined her after hesitating for a moment. It struck me that I was actually glad to see her, despite all the past bitterness. I was glad to see that she was happy.

I opened my mouth to tell her that I wasn't married, that I was just a pathetic bachelor who drank alone while standing at the windows of his apartment and mooning over the lights from his childhood home, but then I remembered.

" Yeah, I'm still married to Helga," I told her, swallowing a lump in my throat. It was true, only technically and perhaps for not much longer, but even so.

" Really?" Ruth said, not hiding her surprise, her eyebrows shooting up. " You guys . . . worked everything out?"

" Yep," I lied.

" You had a kid together, right?" she asked cautiously.

" Yeah, Edward," I said, beaming with genuine pride. " He's great. He's ten years old."

" Wow," Ruth said, sitting back and smiling, peeling the paper from the muffin she'd ordered. " Against all odds, huh?"

" Something like that," I muttered, drinking from my coffee.

" I always felt terrible," she said, not looking at me. " Like I wrecked everything."

" You certainly tried to," I said, looking up at her. If she hadn't barged into the boarding house that morning everything I was telling her would be true – Helga and I would have made it. Against all odds.

Or would we have? Would she have invented some other drama, would I have gotten disenchanted and resentful?

" I was going through some . . . hard times," Ruth said, in way of explanation.

" So was I," I said, a little bitterly.

" I know," she said. " I'm so sorry. But everything worked out, right?"

" Right," I said quietly, staring down at my untouched cinnamon rolls.

" Arnold," she said, her tone changing. I looked up at her, and she leaned across the table. She smiled at me, different than her usual catty grin – she was beaming, her face full of unashamed adoration.

" Arnold, you saved my life that summer," she said.

" I – what?"

" I came home from Brown to kill myself," she said frankly, sitting back. " It's so hard to believe now, but back then – I was a complete mess. In college I'd gotten pregnant – I didn't even remember how, I was drinking so much at the time, having blackouts . . .,"

I thought of Edward's conception - it seemed impossible, now, that Helga and I had been through something similar.

" My parents didn't even know where I was that summer," she said, shaking her head. " They were trying to sell that old brownstone, staying in Maine until they could move out. They thought I was in Europe."

" Why are you telling me this?" I asked, embarrassed.

" Because I want you to know that it wasn't all for nothing," she said, sighing. " All that crap I put you through, making you drink with me every night until we both passed out on the floor."

" You didn't make me do anything," I muttered, though it hadn't felt that way at the time.

" But you were so innocent," she said, shaking her head. " I'd never met a boy like you. I think I wanted to corrupt you to prove something to myself, that you were all the same."

I had to look away from her, remembering how she'd changed me that summer. I couldn't believe this was the same girl who'd tried to methodically destroy me. She seemed so soft and kind, so changed herself.

" How exactly did I save you?" I asked, trying to think of anything I'd done with her beyond stumbling around her parents' brownstone and exchanging veiled insults in between bouts of ripping each others' clothes off.

" You didn't desert me," she said, the words tearing into me. " You kept coming back, and it wasn't because you needed me, or even wanted me at that point. You were worried about me. You cared. And that day I came over, the day Helga saw us and – you didn't shove me aside, you held me. It wasn't what I was expecting, and if it caused problems for you and Helga, I'm so sorry. But I wanted you to know, it wasn't for nothing."

I felt like the room was spinning. So that was what I was doing when I ruined Helga's life, causing her to ruin mine in return – I was saving Ruth? My initial reaction to this was to stand up in the middle of the quaint little bakery and scream about how unfair it all was. But looking at her, sitting across the table from me with happy tears in her eyes, I didn't feel cheated. I even felt a little redeemed.

" I'm glad," I told her, smiling. She reached across the table and squeezed my hand.

" You're really amazing," she said. " But I'm sure your wife tells you that all the time."

" Yeah," I said sadly. " Ruth – I've got to go."

" Oh, you've probably got work," she said, nodding to herself. " Well, I'm really glad I ran into you, anyway. Glad to know you, Arnold," she said, looking up at me as I stood to leave, wrapping up the cinnamon buns that I'd lost my appetite for during our conversation.

" You too, Ruth," I said earnestly. For all the pain she'd caused me, I was glad. I was lying to myself when I told myself it didn't mean anything to me anymore, "saving" people. I was still a sucker for it, after all.

I left the bakery and walked down the crowded sidewalk – the sun had fully risen now, and the streets were bustling with people trying to get to work. But I realized as I walked that my feet were carrying me away from my office building. I was walking toward the subway station. I stopped at the top of the stairs and looked down, people hurrying around me as I paused. I pulled out one of the cinnamon buns from the bakery and ate it hungrily. I felt strangely calm. Strangely good, for the first time in awhile.

Without thinking too much about it, I descended the steps and boarded a train that would take me out to Brooklyn. My heart was racing a little, like it had on days when I skipped high school to go to the arcade with Gerald. As the train pulled out of the station I took out the second cinnamon bun, but before I could take a bite I noticed a man in a ratty old jacket staring at me. I looked at him – he was unshaven and looked tired, disoriented. I looked down at the bun in my hand, then stood up.

" Here," I said, handing it to him.

" Huh?" he said, looking up at me in surprise.

" Here, you can have this, if you want," I said, watching him take it, still confused. " I already had one, and I'm not that hungry."

" Thanks, man," he said quietly, staring up at me. I nodded to him and smiled, then went back to my seat.

By the time I got off the train and climbed the stairs to the familiar streets of my old neighborhood, I was humming to myself like an idiot. What was wrong with me, I had no clue. But seeing Ruth and cutting out of work had me feeling like I was walking on air. I practically skipped my way along the streets toward my childhood home.

When I reached the brownstone that used to be the Sunset Arms I stopped and looked up at the brick building, hands in my pockets. The sign that once hung over the door was gone, as was the nasty old radiator that used to hang out of the living room window. The whole place looked like it had been refurbished, along with the rest of the neighborhood. It was more upscale now, but the place still had a certain old world charm.

I had to stop myself before I climbed the fire escape to peek in at my old room, to see if they'd gutted it or kept my modifications in place. I didn't need to get arrested for trespassing on top of everything else that had happened lately. So I simply stood there, watching the place as if waiting for it to reveal some secret to me, some information that it had silently called me there to impart.

" Hey," came a voice behind me, and I whirled to see a kid sitting on a bike and staring at me with a skeptical look on his face.

" What are you doing?" he asked me, looking me up and down.

" I used to live here," I explained.

" Oh," he said, looking up at the house and back to me. " Well, this is my house now," he said.

" Shouldn't you be in school?" I asked, and he rolled his eyes.

" It's a teacher workday, duh," he said.

" Oh, man, I used to love the teacher workdays!" I said, beaming. " We would go to the empty lot and play baseball until the ice cream truck came around – hey, is that ball field still there?"

" Gerald Field?" the kid said. " Sure. My friend Anthony says it was named after his dad."

" Anthony!" I exclaimed, remembering that Gerald had moved back to Brooklyn with his wife and two kids, Anthony and Marcus. " I know that kid. God, I haven't seen him in two years. I need to call Gerald."

" You're kinda weird," the kid said after a pause.

" Hey, what about the attic room in this place?" I asked, ignoring this astute observation. " Does it still have the couch that you can control with a remote? How about the sky light?"

" It was like that when you lived here?" he asked, brightening a little.

" Yeah, I'm the one who made all those modifications," I told him, proud.

" That's my room," he said, smiling. " I changed the wallpaper, though. It used to be these really dorky clouds."

" I loved those clouds," I mused, looking up at the third floor.

" You're weird," the kid said again, laughing.

" You know I have a kid about your age," I said, apropos of nothing. He stared back at me, and I waited for him to tell me that I looked too young to be a ten year old's father.

" So?" he said instead, shrugging.

I opened my mouth, but couldn't come up with a response. Somehow it was the most profound thing anyone had said about my whole screwed up situation with Edward. He was mine. So? What did that even matter, if I was just going to let him slip away?

" I – I've got to go," I said to the kid, walking off down the sidewalk. " Take care of my old room, willya?"

" Whatever, mister," he muttered, laughing to himself.

My feet did the thinking for me, and before I knew what was happening I was standing in front of the brownstone where Helga used to live, just down the street from the elementary school. I stared up at it, at the window that used to be hers. Part of me wanted to climb up the fire escape and look inside, expecting to find her there. I felt like I'd traveled back in time. The front door of the brownstone opened, and I ducked behind a telephone poll, afraid Big Bob was going to emerge, running at me and wielding a baseball bat. But instead a red-haired man I didn't recognize locked the door behind him and headed off down the street. I let out my breath.

_Now what, Arnold_? I thought to myself, frozen in place, my eyes on what used to be Helga's bedroom window. Like the kid said: so? You grew up here, your parents left you, you met the girl, you made the kid, and things sort of went haywire from there.

. . . So?

I turned and headed toward the subway station. On the way there I stopped at a newsstand and bought a giant candy bar. I felt like a kid cutting class, like I was slipping away from all the wrongheaded rationalizations that had held me in place for so long. For the first time in awhile what was good and what was right were clear to me, and man had I missed my old ability to see them for what they were.

" Hey, is that you, Arnold?" someone called as I was heading down the stairs to the subway stop. I looked up to see a robust old man sitting outside of a butcher's shop.

" Mr. Green!" I said, stopping on the stairs to smile at him.

" Long time no see!" he said, grinning. " You running for president yet?"

" One step at a time," I called as I jogged down the stairs. He laughed.

" I'd vote for you!" he called after me.

" I need a ticket to Seattle, please," I told the lady behind the ticket counter at the airport. I'd been in line for thirty minutes, ready to burst with excitement. In the time it had taken me to travel between the old neighborhood and the airport I'd had two more cups of coffee, another candy bar and a whole roll of Sweet Tarts. I almost felt like I could jump into the air, flap my arms and fly to Seattle myself.

" Will that be round trip or one way?" she asked, not looking up from her computer terminal.

" One way," I said, beaming. " Yeah, I'm not coming back to New York. I'm so done with New York, you know what I mean?"

She looked up at me and raised an eyebrow.

" Sir, if you're intoxicated they won't let you fly," she muttered.

" Oh, God," I said, laughing. " You wouldn't know, but that's actually really ironic, what you just said. But I'm only highly caffienated at the moment."

" I see," she said, sighing. " Well, it'll be three hundred and thirty three dollars, then, for one way to Seattle."

" You know what?" I said, after a pause, clutching my one remaining credit card. " How much for first class? No, I don't even care. Just give me first class," I said, handing over the card. She took it from me and gave me a look.

" Alright," she muttered. " One way to Seattle, first class. Seven hundred and thirteen dollars." She punched a few buttons on her keyboard, and looked up at me. " Done," she said.

" Perfect," I said, beaming. " Thank you. You know, this is hilarious because actually I'm probably being fired on my answering machine at this very minute. But I don't even care - sometimes you can just tell things are going to work out!"

" Best of luck with that," she said dryly as I walked off.

I boarded my plane thirty minutes later, with no luggage to check. I'd never flown first class before, and the mid-afternoon flight wasn't crowded, so I got to sit by the window with an empty seat beside me. I stared out the little window and smiled, stretched my legs out. I couldn't think about what Edward and Helga's reactions would be yet, I couldn't guess what to expect. I was just excited; though I'd never been to Seattle before, I felt like I was heading home after a long, exhausting trip.

" Champagne, sir?" a voice asked, and I turned to see a flight attendant proffering a silver tray with four glasses of bubbling champagne on it.

" Oh," I said, watching the bubbles float to the surface of the glasses, transfixed for a moment. I thought of the last time I'd had champagne: Eugene's wedding, where all of this had begun.

" Actually," I said, narrowing my eyes a bit and looking at her. " Could I just have, like, three bottles of Yahoo soda? Please?"

" Three bottles?" she asked, straightening.

" Yeah, if that's possible," I said.

" Of course it is, sir," she said, smiling and breezing away. Soon enough she was back with three ice cold bottles of my favorite childhood drink.

" I used to know the guy who advertised these," I told her brightly as she served them to me.

" Oh?" she said. " Are you in advertising, then?"

" No, no," I said, laughing. " Actually I'm pretty much unemployed." For some reason every time I said it I just wanted to double over laughing in delight. No more picking out scientists' grammatical errors as I combed through tomes on Chemical Engineering, half asleep and dreading the new edition that would surely be released in six months' time. I had no idea what I wanted to do instead – maybe I would be a stay at home Dad. I grinned to myself at the thought.

We took off on schedule, and flew toward the West Coast, through gigantic cloud formations that looked like powder-soft mountains. I kept my eyes open the whole time, snacking on cookies and sipping soda to stave off my sugar crash. Before long, three hours had passed, and we were beginning our descent toward Seattle. The clouds changed as we drew closer – they were dark and a little ominous, and the seatbelt light flashed on as we began to fly down through them.

" This might be a bit of a bumpy landing," the flight attendant warned as she collected my empty soda bottles. She stumbled a little as the plane shook.

I buckled my seatbelt over my lap and looked back out the window. I couldn't see distinct clouds anymore, just a gray wall that blanketed the plane. The cabin shook again, making my stomach lurch. I shouldn't have eaten so many cookies.

As we came in for landing I couldn't help but think about what would happen if something went wrong, if we crashed on the tarmac, if I never made it off this plane. I thought of my parents and my heart rate increased. The lights flickered in the cabin.

If we crashed then Helga and Edward would never know that I was trying to get back to them. I thought again of my parents. Maybe they turned on their heels as soon as their plane set down in that far off place, maybe they said No, we were wrong. I could see my mother in my mind, her eyes filling, waving down the pilot before he could take off again. I saw them trying to get home, flying through clouds as black as the ones I was staring out at from my tiny window. Maybe that was when they disappeared, when they'd finally decided to do the right thing. I swallowed heavily.

When the plane completed its bumpy landing on the rainy tarmac, I realized I'd been holding my breath throughout the whole thing. I let it out in a rush, gasping for air.

I was anxious to get off the plane as it pulled into place at the airport, my foot tapping furiously, and not just because I'd drained three yahoo sodas. It struck me how fragile intentions were – they really didn't mean anything, in the long run. The only thing that mattered was where we ended up, not where we meant to go, what we meant to do, what we _might_ have done, had things been different.

When I was finally able to leave the plane I rushed through the airport, happy that I didn't have any luggage to pick up. It was still morning in Seattle, which was throwing me for a hell of a loop, especially in combination with the fact that my sugar high was fading fast and I felt a little bit like collapsing into a heap and sleeping for days. I told myself that I'd be able to do that once I got to Helga's – hopefully. The possibility that she would instead throw me out on my ass was still very real, but I was determined to be optimistic. It had been too long since I'd had faith in anyone, and I needed to believe that she and I could still love each other more than anything, then.

It was pouring down rain when I got out of the airport. I got myself a taxi and pulled the business card that Helga had written her address on out of my pants pocket. I thanked all the forces in heaven and hell that I'd put on the same pants I'd been wearing when I left California that morning. I told the cabbie the address and we set off through the rainy streets.

Though it was morning, and though it was approaching late afternoon on my internal East coast clock, it looked like night because of the dark clouds over the city. It was extremely confusing, and I felt completely disoriented as we drove downtown. I pressed my head against the cab's window and shut my eyes. I was just starting to fall asleep when the driver spoke.

" You here on business?" he asked. I looked up groggily and saw that he was an older man, wearing a golfer's cap. His hapless grin reminded me a bit of my grandfather's.

" No, I'm – coming home, actually," I said.

" Ah, I see," the driver said, grinning to himself. " Your family will be happy to see you, eh?" he asked.

" I hope so," I muttered, and he laughed.

" Hey, whatever you did, buddy," he said, shaking his head and smiling to himself. " They'll forgive you. Trust me. That's what family's for."

He pulled up to an older apartment building then, with a jewelry shop on the lowest level. I frowned.

" We're here already?" I asked.

" Yep," the driver said. " I know all the shortcuts."

I paid him and climbed out, my hands shaking a little. I tucked them under my arms and jogged toward the building, the pouring rain soaking me before I could reach the sheltered landing. I tried to get my breath, but I realized that I'd somehow become incredibly nervous, and I felt a bit like I was going to pass out. My whole body felt shaky from my earlier onslaught of sugar and caffeine, and I could barely bring myself to ring the button by the door that said "Pataki" on it, but somehow I managed.

" Yeah?" a voice I recognized as Edward's called out over the rain.

" Edward," I shouted over the downpour. " It's Arnold. Can – can I come up?"

There was a pause, which seemed to stretch out over centuries as I waited for his answer. What the hell was I doing here? How did I get here – I felt like I'd been in a delightful coma all morning and that I was just now waking up to a harsh reality.

Edward didn't respond, but the buzzer on the door sounded, and I gratefully pulled it open and stepped inside. The lobby was cold and I hugged myself, trying to get warm. I walked up the stairs toward Helga's apartment, trying not to slip on their slick surface. When I reached her apartment I drew in a deep breath before knocking timidly.

Edward opened the door and stared up at me. I sniffed and dripped on the doorstep, suddenly speechless.

" Come in," Edward said with an exasperated sigh, holding the door open for me. I stepped inside and looked around: it was a nice, open space, not big but well appointed and cozy. There was exposed brick on the left wall, a modest kitchen with new-looking appliances, and a dining room table that looked like it might have come from the antique store downstairs. There were two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a large picture window that looked out on the city. Edward shut and locked the heavy door behind me, and I shuffled into the living area, trailing water.

" What are you doing here?" Edward asked, and I turned to him.

" Can we – can we sit down over there?" I asked, pointing to the dining room table. He nodded, and went to have a seat. I pulled out a chair and sat next to him, took a deep breath.

" I'm sorry about the way I treated you yesterday," I said.

" It's okay," he said, looking nervously down at his hands.

" No, it's not okay," I said, looking around. " Where's your Mom?"

" At the store," he said.

" And she left you here by yourself?" I asked, suddenly infuriated.

" It's just around the corner," he said, looking up at me. " I'm not a baby," he added, crossing his arms over his chest.

" Why aren't you in school?" I asked.

" Mom thought I should have a day off," he muttered, " To sort things out."

" Things?" I asked.

" Like all that stuff with . . . you. And everything that happened."

" Edward," I said with a sigh, leaning forward. " I have to tell you some things."

" Fine, but can I play Legos while you talk?" he asked, not missing a beat.

" Um. Sure." I watched him get up and go to an elaborate Lego kit that was spread out all over the wooden floor. I was a little hurt, but I figured it might be easier to get the hard stuff off my chest this way, if he wasn't staring back at me expectantly.

" You know your mom and I had you when we were very young," I began, clearing my throat.

He didn't respond, only snapped Legos together, but I could tell he was listening.

" We – we made some mistakes," I said in a sigh. " We were dumb, both of us. And those mistakes – one way or another – resulted in me not being around when you grew up. But I want you to know that I really, really wish I had been. I really would have. Been here. If I could have."

He didn't look up, didn't say anything. I wasn't sure if I was getting through to him or not, if I'd ever be able to. There was no way I could absolve myself without condemning Helga.

" Look, my parents left me, too," I said, going at it from a different angle. " And for a long time I hated them for it," I added, quietly. I wondered if this would be an appropriate time to ask if he hated me, but then decided against it.

" I just don't want to be like them," I said flailing now. I felt like I had once had a plan, but now that I was sitting and staring at him I was just back to the place I'd run screaming from in California. Only I didn't want to run anymore. I wasn't sure what I wanted – maybe I wanted him to jump up and throw his arms around me, call me 'Daddy' and forgive me on the spot. Not that I deserved that. Not that I could blame him if he gave me the silent treatment for the rest of his life.

" I'm sorry," I muttered, embarrassed. " I don't know what --"

" Want to play Legos?" he asked, cutting me off. He looked up at me, waiting for an answer. I stared back at him in stunned silence for a moment.

" Sure," I said. I scooted off of the chair I'd been sitting in and sat down on the floor beside him, Indian style.

" What are you making?" I asked, picking up the instruction booklet.

" That's cheating," he said, taking the booklet from my hands and tossing it aside. " It's a submarine. See?" He picked up the box the set had come in and showed me the picture on the front.

For the next ten minutes or so the two of us worked in silence on building the submarine. I would assemble the ancillary pieces and hand them off to him, and he'd attach them to the main infrastructure. Just watching him work on the thing made me want to burst into grateful tears – the way his little hands flicked through the scattered pieces, the way he rubbed his chin when he was deep in thought. He was completely perfect.

I snapped out of my trance when I heard footsteps out in the hallway, then a key in the door. My heart skipped a few beats: Helga.

" There's Mom," Edward muttered, still focused on the Legos.

The door opened and Helga walked in, carrying two paper grocery bags. She was struggling with an umbrella and cursing to herself as she pushed the heavy door shut behind her. She looked up and opened her mouth as if to tell Edward to help her with the bags, but froze in place when she saw me sitting on the floor with a Lego submarine propeller in my hand. Edward looked up at her, too, waiting for a reaction.

Helga said nothing. She turned from us and stomped into the kitchen, dropped the bags on the counter. She paused for a moment as if getting her breath, then started taking things out of the bags and putting them in the cabinets, still silent. Edward turned back to me and gave me a "What the hell?" sort of look. All I could do was shrug and stand up, walking toward the kitchen.

I stared at Helga as she put groceries away, determined not to look at me. The snapping of Lego pieces had paused behind me, and I could feel Edward watching us. He was waiting to see how this would go; probably as nervous about the whole thing as I was, if that was even humanly possible. But I saw it in the slope of Helga's shoulders as she motored purposefully around the kitchen: she wanted to give in. Maybe that was what I had always seen in her that everyone else had missed: that she wanted to be the optimist, that she wanted to believe in people, she just couldn't let herself.

" What are you doing here?" she finally asked, tight-lipped, as she stuffed a box of pasta into a cabinet above the stove.

I walked to her, saying nothing, staring at her, waiting for her to look at me.

" Helga --"

Before I could finish, or even decide what I was going to say, she whirled to me and threw her arms around my shoulders. I pulled her to me and squeezed, felt her swallow a sob as she held onto to me, her face pressed against my neck. I let out my breath and smiled, buried my face in her hair and inhaled deeply.

We separated for the sake of Edward, and Helga fanned away her tears, getting her breath and regaining her composure.

" Well, will you be staying for dinner?" she asked, looking at me. I grinned.

" Yeah, if you'll let me," I said. She nodded to herself, then looked to Edward. He shrugged, and bit away a smile, turning back to his Legos as if all of this bored him terribly. But I could see it in the up-turned corners of his eyes, same as his mother's: it was their give away, the hint of happiness that showed when they tried to hide it.

" God, you'll freeze to death," Helga said, shaking her head at me. " And I see you've tracked water all over my apartment," she added.

" Sorry," I said, pushing my wet hair off my forehead.

" C'mon I'll give you a robe or something," she said, grabbing my arm and pulling me through the living room, into one of the bedrooms in the back. It was clearly Helga's room: larger than I might have expected, with a queen bed and a window that looked out over an alleyway. She shut the door behind us.

" Helga," I began again as she walked to me and started unbuttoning my wet shirt.

" Shh, Arnold, I don't want to hear it," she said, shaking her head. I let her pull off my shirt and ball it up, then watched her disappear into the adjoining bathroom. I stepped out of my pants while she was gone, dropped them on the floor. She returned with a towel and reached up to dry my hair, giving it a vigorous rub.

" Don't you want to know why I'm here?" I asked when she let the towel fall around my damp shoulders. I put my hands on her waist and pulled her to me.

" I know why you're here," she said, looking up into my eyes. I bent down and kissed her, breathing into her open mouth, my grip on her waist tightening. She giggled against my lips, pulling back a little and smiling up at me.

" You taste like Yahoo soda," she said, looking at me like I was crazy.

" Better than the usual vodka aftertaste, hmm?" I joked.

" Arnold," she said, her face growing serious. "I didn't mean it when I said you were a . . . I exaggerated."

" Not by much," I said, raising an eyebrow. " And I'm sorry--"

" No, no," she said, waving her hands in the air. " Let's not get started with the apologies. If we do, Edward'll be eighteen by the time we leave this room."

I smiled and kissed her again. She put her arms around my neck and jumped up into my arms, wrapping her legs around my waist. I caught her and laughed, stumbling backward until I crashed into the wall. She kissed my eyelids and smiled at me.

" I always wanted to do that," she said. "I had this fantasy, since I was nine years old, that one day I would just stop being afraid and jump into your arms."

" Well, here you are," I said, leaning back and looking up at her. " Is it as good as you imagined?"

" Yeah, you're a pretty good kisser, football head," she said with a smirk. She kissed me again, and I wanted to drop her onto the bed and fall on top of her, but I knew that Edward was waiting outside, wondering what the hell was going on. Helga slid out of my arms, and I watched her walk across the room and retrieve a purple robe from her closet.

" I'm not wearing that," I said, chuckling at it.

" Well, you've got to wear something while your clothes take a spin in the dryer," she said, tossing it on the bed. " I don't exactly keep men's clothes on hand, and I think you're a little big for Edward's stuff."

" I'll just hang out here," I said, stepping out of my boxers and making her laugh and look away. I bounced onto her bed and slid under the covers, pulling them up to my chin. " I need a nap anyway," I told her, rolling onto my side.

" Well, just make yourself at home," she said, putting a hand on her hip and shaking her head at me.

" I do feel like I'm home," I told her earnestly. " Finally."

She smiled and came to the side of the bed, kneeling down so that her face was close to mine. She pulled a hand through my hair, pushing it carefully off of my forehead.

" I thought I'd never see you again," she said wistfully.

" Me too," I said, taking her hand and kissing it lightly. " It wasn't a happy thought. So here I am."

She kissed my forehead and stood up, and I settled into place, hugging one of her pillows to me.

" You get some rest," she said. " I'm going to make Edward some lunch. Later we can all have dinner together."  
" Sounds good," I said, already drifting off to sleep, more comfortable than I'd ever been in my entire life. The pillow - the whole bed - smelled like Helga, and the prospect of waking up to dinner with my family was a sweet one to fall asleep with.

I woke up hours later, rolling onto my back and slowly getting my bearings. I looked around Helga's dark bedroom, at the small window. It was still raining steadily outside, and I smiled as it splattered against the glass: it seemed almost protective, like it would hold the three of us safely inside, reminding us what it was like out there without each other.

I turned onto my side and tried to remember the dream I'd been having. It was something about the old neighborhood, something about chasing Helga down the street past the elementary school. She was a teenager in the dream – or maybe even older – but she'd been wearing that pink dress, the one she used to come to school in when we were kids. And her big pink ribbon, too.

" Helga, wait!" I'd called as she ran ahead of me, laughing. " We don't hate each other anymore!" I'd told her, panting.

She'd stopped then, and turned back to me, letting me crash into her, knocking us both to the ground.

" Really?" she'd said, looking up at me.

I couldn't remember the rest. I sat up and saw that my clothes, now dry, had been folded and were sitting on the end of the bed. I crawled across the sheets and reached for them, and dressed in the darkness. For a moment I sat on the end of the bed, a little bit afraid to go on. It couldn't really just – work out, could it? Just because I showed up on a rainy day and crawled into her bed? I listened for noise out in the apartment, and heard pots clattering, and the sound of the television. I smiled to myself. It had been so long since I'd woken to the sound of other people moving about. I used to resent it in the boarding house, all the noise, all the people, and no privacy. So I shut myself up in a clean and lonely apartment, after escaping the college dorm hell that echoed my childhood experience. And it was too quiet, but I'd held onto it for dear life, telling myself it was my reward, what I'd worked for.

I stood up and went for the door, opened it and blinked into the light of the apartment's main living area. I looked around as my eyes adjusted, saw Helga poking around in the fridge over in the kitchen, and Edward sitting at the dining room table, with books open in front of him. Across the room the TV was playing cartoons, and he was staring at it, ignoring his books though his pencil was poised over a blank sheet of paper.

" Arnold," Helga said, noticing me as I sauntered in. Edward turned and looked at me, then back to the TV. I went into the kitchen and leaned against the kitchen counter, watched Helga squeeze lime juice into a pot of what looked like chicken soup.

" How was your nap?" she asked. " Edward, get that TV off!" she shouted before I could answer.

" No, this is too boring," he muttered, looking down at his book.

" Homework is supposed to be boring, now turn it off," Helga snapped. Edward grumbled something under his breath and picked up the remote from the table, begrudgingly shutting off the TV. He put his head down on the book and made a stabbing motion toward the paper with his pencil. I laughed – he looked exactly like I had when I was ten, but he was definitely a miniature Helga in terms of attitude.

" Need some help?" I called to him.

" No, he doesn't," Helga said, stirring the soup. " He needs to do it himself."

" What are you making?" I asked her, changing the subject as Edward continued grumbling to himself, and began drawing dinosaurs in the margins of his paper.

" Chicken noodle soup," she said. " Or this weird sort of Asian variation of it. Here," she handed me a head of nappa cabbage. " Cut that up, will you?" she asked.

We made dinner together, stepping on each other's toes as we moved around the small kitchen, Helga laughing about how clueless I was when it came to cooking. Edward pretended that he wasn't watching us, but every now and then I'd catch him staring, only to shoot his eyes back down to his homework as soon as I noticed. I wondered what he thought about the whole thing.

At dinner the three of us ate together at the table, and it was a bit awkward at first, with Edward still in a surly mood over his homework.

" You know, your mom was lucky when she was your age," I said. " She had her brilliant friend Phoebe to do all her homework for her."

" Do _not_ tell him that," Helga said, giving me a look. " She didn't – do my homework. She just . . . checked my answers."

" More like gave them to you," I said, laughing. Edward grinned.

" Phoebe?" he said, looking to Helga. " That lady with the crazy dog?"

" Yes," Helga said. " We went to visit her in Boston last year," she explained to me. " She has this Italian greyhound –"

" It peed on the couch," Edward said, giggling at the memory.

" Phoebe was like, freaking out, but trying not to get upset, you know how she is," Helga said, grinning and rolling her eyes.

" So you guys really went to school together when you were my age?" Edward asked, looking from Helga to me.

" Yep," I said. " We've known each other since we were three years old," I said, smiling in her direction.

" Weird," Edward said, shaking his head. " Were you like, boyfriend and girlfriend when you were _three_?" he asked, with a disgusted look on his face.

" No," I said, laughing. " No, your mother – sort of terrorized me until high school."

" Terrorized?" Edward asked, looking at Helga.

" You know, sometimes when a girl has a crush on a boy," Helga tried to explain, embarrassed. " She teases him all the time."

" Like Maggie Richards?" Edward asked.

" Yes, like that," Helga said, clearing her throat. " I keep telling him, this girl is tormenting him because she's in love with him," she explained. " I should know."

" Well, I'm never gonna like Maggie," Edward muttered, stirring his soup.

" Don't burn any bridges just yet," I said, glancing at Helga. " They have an insidious way of getting under your skin, those hellions."

Edward looked up at me, blinked.

" I don't know what you're talking about," he said, shaking his head. " But I'm never gonna marry her. She can't make me!"

Helga and I laughed. I thought of our wedding day, in the cluttered living room of that old couple, their dinner cooking in the next room. If you'd have gone back and told ten year old Helga and I about it, I would have had a reaction similar to Edward's, and Helga just would have been damn disappointed that she didn't get a giant white wedding with all the trimmings. Or maybe not. Helga was smarter than me, back then. Maybe she just would have smiled, sat back and bided her time.

In that moment I remembered the end of the dream I'd been having before: after I told Helga that we didn't hate each other anymore, we'd both turned back into kids, Edward's age. She'd grinned up at me kind of sadly.

" Well, wake me up when we're in love," she'd said, shutting her eyes.

* * *

After dinner I helped Helga with the dishes in the kitchen while Edward watched TV on the living room couch. We worked quietly beside each other, listening to the muted audio from the television – he was watching some sort of sketch comedy show for kids. I kept glancing at Helga, trying to get her to look at me so I could read her face, figure out what she was thinking.

" I guess you need a place to stay tonight," she said quietly, not looking at me.

" I need to stay with you," I said, hoping I could convey exactly what 'stay' meant to me, which was more than one night in the shelter of her apartment.

" I don't know what will happen to me if I don't," I added, feeling dramatic, but it was true. I couldn't go back to New York. I'd lost my job, certainly. I was broke. But it was more than that. I'd never before realized how much of my emotional well-being I'd invested in this girl when I'd promised her, that sunny day in New Jersey, that I'd love her for the rest of my life.

" You were always going to be better off without me," she whispered. " I don't see why it's any different, now."

" Yes, you do," I said, knowing then that I'd finally learned how to read her. She was testing me. She knew. I could feel it in her, the way she was longing to trust me again; I felt it like gravity, pulling me toward her. The same force that had been there since we were small, something I could sense without knowing it, despite her efforts to push me away.

She turned to me and smiled cryptically, said nothing. I wanted to lean down to kiss her, but wasn't sure if was appropriate with Edward across the room. She dried her hands on a dishtowel and then handed it to me, and I watched her walk out of the kitchen.

Helga sat on the couch beside Edward and smoothed his hair. He yawned and took off his glasses, cleaned the lenses with the rim of his shirt. She pulled her legs up to her chest and rested her arms on her knees, staring at the TV. I felt like I could watch them forever, hiding in the background, scared to interfere.

But instead I took a deep breath and walked into the living room, sat next to Helga on the couch. None of us spoke, we just watched the TV. I couldn't pay attention to the images that flashed across the screen, and I wondered if they could, either. It was sort of a miracle we were experiencing, after all, the three of us finally together, no one yelling or lying or running away in tears. It felt so fragile; I think we must have been afraid to speak.

An hour passed like this, with the rain beating steadily on the window across the room from us. I think we all wanted to scream: "But what will happen now!" and claw at our faces in abject terror. But for the sake of each other, maybe, we just listened to the rain, stared at the television set. And at one point I leaned toward Helga, subtly, placing my shoulder against hers. She didn't move away.

I watched her out of the corner of my eye, watched the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, her long eyelashes blinking in the light from the screen. I thought of the first time I touched her. Not some happenstance gesture when we were kids, but the first time I really moved to embrace her. It was that night in the tub at Rhonda's party, the night Edward appeared silently onto the scene. She was crying and I reached up, and she seemed to fall easily into my arms. I didn't remember much about that night, but I do remember being surprised that it seemed to make so much sense, Helga curling up against me. Or that it felt so comfortable, when maybe it shouldn't have. Or that when she'd looked up at me with teary eyes I'd wanted to kiss her. Or that I had.

Eventually Helga made Edward go to bed, and I puttered around the apartment while he dressed in his pajamas and brushed his teeth. Helga went into the bedroom to change into her own nightclothes, and I went to the door of Edward's room as he was climbing into his bed, the lights still on.

" Hey, can I come in for a sec?" I asked.

" Okay," he said, sitting in his bed and staring up at me expectantly. I walked into his room – it reminded me of my own when I was his age. It still had a childish wallpaper border – dinosaurs. He had a map of the world tacked up on the wall across from the bed, and a little shelf full of books near the door.

" You mind if I stay here?" I asked him, not specifying how long.

" I don't mind," Edward said, after a short pause. " I mean, it's kinda weird. But you're – you know. And at least you're not a jerk or anything," he said, shrugging to himself, embarrassed.

" I was a jerk yesterday," I said, reeling a little over the fact that everything that had gone down in California had happened only yesterday. It seemed like it was a year ago, at least, since I'd laid eyes on Helga and Edward.

" You weren't a jerk, really," Edward muttered. " You were just . . . sad."

I was silent for a moment, stunned.

" You know, you're the smartest kid I've ever met," I said.

" You're just saying that cause I'm yours," he said. I laughed and tried not to break down into happy tears. He was mine. He'd said so himself.

" Well, g'night," I said, moving for the door before I could get too emotional.

" Night," he called, turning out the light as I left. I shut the door behind me but left it open a crack. Out in the apartment I looked for Helga, but the lights had been turned out and she was nowhere to be found. I heard the sound of running water coming from her bedroom, so I slipped inside, shutting the door behind me.

I found her in her bathroom, at the sink, wearing a gray flannel slip and brushing her teeth. I leaned in the doorway and watched her, sad for all the nights when I might have stood behind her like that, all the moments I'd missed. She saw me watching her and rolled her eyes at me in the mirror.

" You have this obnoxiously blissed out look on your face," she said after spitting into the sink and rinsing her brush off.

" Yeah, I think that's what you used to hate about me," I said, smirking at her when she turned around. " I was kinda high on life."

" No you weren't," she said, laughing. " That was Eugene. You were just – determined."

" Then why'd I let you leave me?" I asked as she walked past me, out into the bedroom. She stopped in the middle of the room.

" You were never in a position to let me do anything," she snapped.

" You didn't want me to show up on your aunt's doorstep?" I asked, walking to her. " You didn't want me to find you still pregnant and cry with relief?"

" I don't know what I wanted," Helga said quietly, turning to me. " I was a wreck."

" Are we gonna get past this?" I asked, though I knew I should just shut up. But it was there, like a bright light glaring between us, and we wouldn't be able to sleep while it still burned.

Helga was quiet for a moment. I was terrified of what she might say. But she only reached for me, smoothed my hair the way she'd done with Edward's on the couch.

" You did come," she said softly.

" What?"

" You did come and find me, you did fight for me - you showed up here, tonight," she said, her eyes watering a little. " It just took you ten years, that's all. So yeah. Yeah, Arnold, I think we can get past it."

I scooped her up in my arms then, and she let me lift her off the ground, leaned into my kiss. We stumbled against the bed and fell onto it, laughing. I laid next to her, rolled onto my side, and stared at her for a moment.

" I wanted to come and find you, always," I told her, honestly. " I don't know what took me so long."

" It doesn't matter," she whispered, scooting closer to me. " When you showed up here tonight, after everything we said to each other, did to each other – you proved to me that you were the person I thought you were. I just wasn't willing to let you make any mistakes, before. It was stupid of me. I've certainly made my share of them."

" You think Edward will ever forgive me?" I asked, cradling her to me in the darkness.

" Arnold, he already has," Helga said, chuckling against my chest. " Believe me, if he didn't want you around, you'd know it. He's like me, in that way," she said, grinning up at me.

" I think he's smarter than both of us, then," I said, sighing.

" Oh yeah," she said. " He is."

We laid still together for awhile, listening to the rain beat against the walls of the apartment. Helga had her head tucked between my chest and shoulder, and I was running my fingers absently through her hair.

" What made you change your mind, anyway?" she asked.

" Hmm?"

" Today," she said, lifting her head to look at me. " What made you decide to get on the plane?"

I thought of Ruth in the coffee shop, but I decided it wouldn't be an opportune moment to bring that up.

" I went to the old neighborhood," I said. " I wandered around a little bit, and ended up in front of your old house. I don't know – I just – wished I could go back in time, climb that fire escape and find you inside again."

" Would you still have asked me to marry you?" she asked, smiling.

" That was the next morning," I said, poking her side. " At the pool. Get your facts straight."

" I know, but -"

" Yes, I still would have married you," I said, kissing her forehead. " I would have done everything exactly the same. Except -"

I started to say that I would have made sure my grandfather hadn't let Ruth into the Sunset Arms that morning when Helga found me comforting her. But Ruth had told me that my sympathy in that moment, the fact that I'd held out my arms when she crumbled to the floor, had saved her life.

" You know, I wouldn't change anything," I said. " I like where I am, just now, just like this."

Helga opened her mouth as if to protest, but then stopped herself. Instead she bent to kiss me.

" Me too," she whispered against my lips.

" Does it ever stop raining here?" I asked, looking to the window as she kissed my cheeks lightly.

" It's Seattle," she muttered absently, moving on to kiss my nose, my eyelids.

" I think it suits us," I said, and she paused and looked down at me. " We met in the rain."

" I fell in love with you in the rain," she added. " When you gave me your umbrella."

" You know the last two times you said that to me we immediately –" I began, sitting up on my elbows and grinning.

" I know," she said, cutting me off and smiling.

" I wonder how many other guys get lucky on a regular basis because of a move they made on a girl when they were three years old," I said, laughing. Helga punched my arm and crawled on top of me.

" I wonder how many other couples who've been married for over ten years have only had sex five times," she said, one-upping me as always.

" We ought to do something about that, really," I said, making a serious face. It gave way to a grin and I flipped her over, landing on top of her. She laughed and put her hand over her mouth to keep from being too loud.

" I did say the magic words," she reminded me, between hiccups of laughter.

We stayed up for a long time that night, after we'd brought our ten-year tally up to a more respectable seven. We were both exhausted, but I was unwilling to shut my eyes. I was afraid, I think, that I would wake up in my apartment in New York, that it all would end up being a happy dream.

" Tell me what it'll be like in the morning," I said, my eyes drooping shut. I was lying on my stomach, Helga curled up next to me with her forehead pressed to mine, one arm thrown lazily over my back.

" Hmm?" she mumbled, half asleep herself. I moved my shoulder, jostling her a little, and she moaned and swatted me.

" I don't want to sleep," I admitted.

" Well, it's my bed and I make the rules," she said, settling back into place beside me. " And I say we sleep now, football head."

" I'm afraid this is a dream," I said, hoping I was making some sense in my semi-conscious state of mind.

" Not a dream," she sighed, reaching over to pinch me.

" Ow!"

" There," she said, kissing the place where she'd pinched.

" Tell me anyway," I said. " Tell me what it'll be like when I wake up here, with you."

" Fine," Helga said, pulling me in closer to her. " I'll wake up first. I'll go in and tell Edward to get up – he won't. I'll go into the kitchen and get the Eggos going. I'll make two for you – unless you want three?" she asked, looking up at me.

" Two's fine," I said, grinning and cozying up to her like she was telling me a bedtime story.

" Then I'll try to get Edward up again, and he won't get up, so I'll turn his radio on, and he'll yell at me," Helga said, sighing. " But eventually he'll get up, and we'll eat Eggos together at the table. I'll drive him to school. You can come with us if you want. Then I have some errands to run, and a class to teach at noon. After that maybe we could have lunch together." She yawned.

" Sounds perfect," I said, kissing the bridge of her nose as she drifted off to sleep.

" It's not," she muttered. " Perfect."

" Close enough," I said.

She fell asleep before I did, and I stayed up for awhile with the rain. I kept thinking about my parents; I wanted to find them now only to show them what they'd lost when they left me. I finally felt ready to let go of my orphan's need for the fantasy that they were alive and waiting to be rescued, pining for me, along with my caricature of the malicious world travelers who had abandoned me because parenting wasn't exciting enough.

Whatever they were, I felt myself casting off from them, pushing away like a rafter sailing down a jungle river. I could picture them left behind on the shore, stilted and confused, frozen in time. I didn't need the fantasy or the fears anymore: I had something better. I had found my family at last. They were not lost in South America after all, but had always been just within my reach, in the form of a pouty little girl with ribbons in her hair. Just a girl walking by in the rain, looking for her own family, which she found under the shelter of my umbrella.

A/N: I'm finally finished! I can't believe I started this story four years ago, and I'm just finishing it now. It took a long time, but I'm glad I stuck with it. Thank you so much to all of you who encouraged me to continue, especially to Andrea, who also helped me edit the last chapter.

I will do a short epilogue to this story, which will show what everyone (including Curly and Rhonda!) is up to one year later. So, stay tuned for that, and thank you so much for reading, and waiting!


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